


Did You Think I Had a Place to Go

by qilathe



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Feelings of Abandonment, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qilathe/pseuds/qilathe
Summary: In the two months since Eliza left, Alex has gone from hurt that she lied about why she left to numb. His chest no longer aches when he thinks about why she left, but he doesn't really ache for anything anymore. He digs one thumb hard into the opposite wrist, rubbing off a scab.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 41
Kudos: 336





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander looks at the contents of his storage unit, shivering in the early November chill of Boston. He's organized it such that everything he owns fits inside, but he still has space to access it. And he's left blankets on the couch, which is otherwise free from debris. He isn't allowed to sleep here, and he isn't stupid enough to get caught doing it now, in broad daylight. He'll take his books, head back to the school library and study until late. Alex sighs to himself and slings his backpack over his shoulder before pulling the door down and locking the unit. Not that he really has anything worth stealing in it.

Alex turns in the small truck he’d rented back to Uhaul and makes his way to the nearest subway station and takes the Red Line back to Harvard, hugging his backpack to his chest for the duration of the ride. In the two months since Eliza left, Alex has gone from hurt that she lied about why she left to numb. His chest no longer aches when he thinks about why she left, but he doesn't really ache for anything anymore. He digs one thumb hard into the opposite wrist, rubbing off a scab. Then his stop comes up, and Alex carefully puts his bag back on his shoulders and pushes his way out the door, just as the recording calls out, “Please stand clear of the closing doors.”

He leaves the station and crosses campus quickly, heading for the library. He hands five dollars to a barista for a coffee before heading in to find a quiet table to work at. Alex finds one tucked away in the back corner of the second floor. He carefully lays out all his supplies, plugging in his laptop and phone and pulling on his wrist braces before setting in to write his essay for Washington's class. He slowly sips his coffee as he works, and by the time he is satisfied with his work, he has ten pages, which is eight pages more than the paper's minimum length. If Washington hasn't learned to give Alex a maximum essay length by now, he never will. And Alex knows for a fact that Madison and Jefferson hand in papers that are just as long as his, and he’ll die before he lets them turn in better work than him. His current homelessness isn't going to change that.

His phone goes off as he glances out the window, seeing the sun just starting to set. He picks it up and looks down to see a text from Eliza. _You got moved into the new place okay?_

She’s worried that leaving has caused trouble for him. Alex hasn't told her about the situation—can't tell her. She deserves a chance to move on, and he won't ruin that for her. _Yeah, everything is settled in._

_Good._

He doesn't respond to that. He can't have her asking any more questions. He puts down his phone and carefully removes his wrist braces, tucking them in his bag before looking back out the window and picking at the scab on his wrist again. He sighs and emails the essay to Washington before closing his laptop and reaching into his bag for his constitutional law textbook, opening it to chapter seven. He shifts back into his chair and reads, still picking at his scab every once in a while as he does.

He reads two more chapters than he is required to, and then it’s verging on midnight. He sneaks down for another cup of coffee and then pulls out his civil procedure book and starts in on that.

By the time he’s done with that, it’s three in the morning, and he still isn't tired (he’s never tired anymore, never hungry, never thirsty, never _anything_ ), so he opens his laptop and starts looking through old legal cases on the internet, reading anything that piques his interest.

Alex’s phone alarm sounds quietly at six, and he sighs before turning it off. He finishes the case he’s reading, and then starts packing up his stuff. He hurries across the quad to the gym and runs 6K on a treadmill before taking a shower and putting on a clean outfit from his bag. He grabs another coffee and an apple on his way to his 8AM class as the rest of campus is just starting to stir. It’s basically the same as any other morning. He can pretend, just for a moment, that nothing has happened. That his lease hasn't run out just as his money does the same. That Eliza hadn't left him. That he is ready for anything.

He takes a seat in his Con Law class and sips his coffee as the rest of the class filters in.

–

By Thursday, Alexander still doesn't feel tired, but his eyes are starting to fail him. He’ll be reading for class, and then his eyes just slip closed for minutes at a time. He finally gives up on his criminal law textbook, packs up and takes the Red Line to his storage space. He unlocks it, shivering when the cold metal of his lock bites into his skin, and pushes the door open. He pulls it closed behind him, cocoons himself in the pile of blankets on his couch, and sleeps like the dead for five hours.

When his alarm goes off, he has to wiggle an arm and his face out of the blankets to turn it off. He stretches, his back popping all the way down his spine, and fishes out a clean outfit from one of the multitude of plastic bins in the storage unit by the light of his phone. He changes and then opens the unit, going through more stuff inside, putting dirty laundry in a bin and wondering if he will actually get around to doing laundry this weekend or not.

His phone buzzes with a text from John. _How you holding up, buddy?_

_As well as can be expected, I guess_ , Alex responds. He hasn't told John about his situation (hasn’t told anyone). The man is in South Carolina, helping his mom with her cancer treatment. John doesn't have the time to be worrying about Alex, too.

_Let me know if there's anything I can do._ Bless him for caring so much, Alex thinks.

_I'll be fine. Take care of your mom. My thoughts are with you._

_Thank you_. Last they had spoken, things weren't looking good for his mom. Alex hopes things have turned around, but he suspects John would have told him if they had.

Alex packs his bag back up and hops on the subway back to campus. He makes it to his con law class five minutes early with a fresh cup of coffee, feeling a more up to facing his day than he has in a while. Maybe he does need to sleep. Occasionally.

He frowns when his phone goes off and pulls it out, eyebrows furrowed at his screen.

_Bonjour, mon petite lion. It is morning there, oui?_

Alex rolls his eyes. Lafayette is entirely incapable of figuring out time zones. _My first class is about to start. I'll text you after._

_No, you won't. Tu ne faites jamais._ Lafayette maybe knows him too well.

Alex sighed and tucked his phone away, ignoring the glare sent his way from one of his classmates as he does.

“Who is he texting anyway? It's not like he has any friends,” he hears her whisper to her neighbor.

“Probably just asking Eliza to take him back for the umpteenth time,” her neighbor responds dismissively. “She's to smart to take back a cheater like him, though. Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

Alex shrinks in his seat. He _hadn't_ cheated on Eliza. The girl he'd slept with the night she left had a boyfriend, though, not something he'd realized at the time.

It's not like there is a chance Eliza would take him back, even if he asked, so they are at least right about that. They just don't know that he doesn't have to make a huge mistake to be undesirable. Just has to be himself. It’s probably better that everyone thinks he’s a cheater.

Professor Lee blows into the room three minutes late and is already lecturing before he even puts his bag down, so Alex starts typing notes and shakes his head to clear everything else from his mind.

–

Washington's debate class always goes wildly out of his control the moment he lets anyone speak. There aren't very many of them in the class, but the second any one of them opens their mouths, any semblance of civility is forgotten.

“That's just a wildly outlandish idea, Hamilton,” Jefferson spits in response to something Alex has said about universal health care. “Having the cost go down to the states isn't even a plan at all.”

“I never said the cost fell down to the states,” Alex corrects sharply. There isn't as much heat in their arguments anymore, all of his responses and annoyance and hatred by wrote. He can't really remember why he hates Jefferson beyond _He's a filthy rich moderate that wouldn't know how to fix a light bulb without a crisis of ideology_ , doesn't even really think that's true anymore. “I said that if there was a funding issue in a specific area, that the state should be there to pick up the slack. The _state_ , as in our nation. Not the individual states, which already have too much say in federal matters as it is.”

Fire lights up in Jefferson's eyes at that, and he starts near-shouting about how they're _the United_ States _of America, not the Kingdom of Hamiltonia_ , which is maybe less eloquent than he usually is, but then maybe it isn't. Alex is pretty sure he's meant to bristle at that, meant to be offended, so he puts on airs, and says, “You're right, god forbid the backwards-ass conservative governor of Virginia be expected to service minorities. What a political overstep to say that _all men are created equal_.”

It fires Jefferson up so much that he makes a sort of choked noise in his throat, hesitates and then Madison is hissing something in his ear, but before Jefferson gets to parrot it back out and give Alex a chance to use up his only other canned response of, _Well if Madison feels that way, why doesn't he just say so himself_ , Burr butts in to say, “Well, to play devil's advocate for a moment, why should the states be expected to act against the political beliefs of their individuals constituencies? The political leanings of the populace vary state to state, why does the federal government need to step in to force them into acting against the will of the people?”

And thank god for Burr opening his stupid mouth only when he has the dumbest of things to say, because Jefferson immediately launches into a rant that starts with, “I think the devil has enough advocates without you helping him out,” and then continues for five more minutes that Alex doesn't follow, and his eyes have stopped cooperating again, so he closes them for just a second...

“Hamilton?” Washington prompts, and Alex realizes that something was said to him, that he's missed it, that he may have fallen asleep towards the end of Jefferson's rant, just for a second, and that he wasn't listening to it anyways, and he quickly tries to think back through the words that he had heard but not listened to and thinks that Jefferson had said, “But at least you recognize the purpose of having states, unlike _Hamilton_.”

Alex closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and just rants about the stupidity of regionalism and in-group biases, and how allowing geography to default politics is where Gerrymandering came from until he pauses for breath and Jefferson is sent off on an even angrier rant about how _we live in a republic for a reason, Hamilton, and it isn't for shits and giggles._ And by the time Jefferson is done Washington has declared that class is over and Alex lets out a breath of relief as he stands to leave.

“Hamilton, can I speak to you for a moment,” Washington asks before he can escape, and Alex nods once, crossing to Washington's side as everyone else files out of the classroom.

“Sir?” Alex asks.

“Alex, are you feeling alright?” Washington asks him quietly.

“I...” Alex starts, and then stops. “I'm just feeling a little tired, George. I'm fine.”

Washington purses his lips and gives Hamilton an appraising look. “Bullshit. You've been out of it for a month. Your heart's not in it.”

Alex shrugs, humming noncommittally. “It's been almost a year and a half. I just don't find arguing with Jefferson as entertaining anymore,” he lies easily.

Washington raises an eyebrow at him. “I know when you're lying, Alexander, so don't try that shit on me. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But promise me you will ask for help if you need it.”

Alex nods. “Yessir,” he says, mostly to his own feet.

“Dismissed,” Washington responds, and when Alex looks up at him, there's real concern in his eyes. Alex flees the room, barely making it out of sight before he starts picking at the newest scab on his wrist. The pain almost makes him feel something before it fades into the numbness.

He gets a coffee at a cafe, pulls out his laptop and sips it slowly as he reads through an old supreme court case, taking a seat in the corner. He looks up when someone slides in across from him, furrowing his brows at Jefferson.

“Can I help you?” Alex asks, closing his laptop and absently picking at the scab on his wrist.

“Yes,” Jefferson responds. He puts a fresh coffee in front of Alex, then falls silent.

Alex picks up the coffee and sips it hesitantly, but it's black with three sugars, just how he takes it. When it becomes obvious Jefferson isn't going to talk, Alex prompts, “So _how_ can I help you?”

“You never study with anyone,” Jefferson blurts out, which is so unexpected that Alex blinks at him.

But he's fallen silent again, so Alex steels himself against the cold, numb knot in his chest and says, “Well, that's because I don't have any friends in law school with me. I'm sure Madison would study with you if you asked.”

“Madison isn't in our con law class,” Jefferson says, which is at least true.

Alex takes another sip of the gifted coffee. “No, he isn't. Look, did you have a specific question, or...?”

“Study with me. After dinner. Please?” Jefferson asks. “We have that exam on Monday, and I reserved a study room in the library.”

It's much faster than Jefferson usually talks, his accent all but disappearing in the torrent. It's such an out of character thing for him to say, that Alex is thrown, confused by the request. So thrown, in fact, that for just a moment, the numbness fades. That's probably why he says, “Yeah, sure, what time?”

Jefferson immediately deflates in relief and rattles off a room number and a time before leaving to get himself something to eat.

The numbness creeps back in as soon as he's gone, and Alex focuses his confused gaze on the coffee Jefferson had given him before opening his laptop back up and going back to reading his case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, so here's chapter 2. tbh, this is all completed already, so I'm going to try to remember to post every other day until it's done.

Thomas has always found arguing with Hamilton to be exhilarating. He was the first person, aside from Madison, that Thomas had found to be his intellectual equal, who could keep up with him pace for pace, throwing arguments back and forth with him volley for volley, like a perfect game of tennis, the ball never going out of bounds. It was as thrilling as it was infuriating. And the fact that it was slipping away as quickly as Hamilton himself was fading was terrifying.

Well, he would never say that out loud, not since he confessed his crush on Hamilton to James who had said, “You'd strangle each other and I'd be left without anyone worth talking to.” James refused to budge on that point and when it came out that Hamilton had cheated on Eliza, James hadn't let it go for a month, had brought it up every chance he got.

“You can't date someone who's a cheater,” James had told him matter-of-factly when Thomas had called him out on it. “Not after Sally left you to marry that other asshole.”

“Jemmy, who on Earth said I was going to ask him out?” Thomas had grumbled in response, picking at the label to his micro brew.

“Tom, look at me,” James had said quietly, and Thomas had looked up, met the determined look in his eyes. “I can't deal with that again. Lord knows _you_ couldn't do that again. So... just let it go.”

And that had been the last time Thomas had brought the subject of Hamilton up to James. But he couldn't help but look at the way Hamilton was dejected and fading fast and see himself after Martha had died in that car accident in high school. Or James before Thomas had insinuated himself in the other man's life. And he couldn't see that and not want to do _something_.

He walks in to the cafe to pick up some coffee for James and himself before they start hashing over their essays for their Torts class, and he sees Hamilton.

The man is tucked into a corner, reading something on his laptop, and picking at a scab on his wrist and Thomas feel his heart clench. He watches as Hamilton picks up his cup for another sip only to give it a sad look when he finds it empty.

And he can't _not_ do something, so he pulls out his phone, snaps a picture when Hamilton isn't looking, one that shows the red lines disappearing under the sleeve of his hoodie and walks up to the barista, giving her his most charming smile. “Do you remember what he ordered?” he asks her indicating Hamilton.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Large black coffee, extra shot, three sugars.”

“Make it two extra shots, and I'll have a medium caramel macchiato.”

She smiles and winks at Thomas knowingly. “Coming right up.”

He waits as patiently as he can for his order, then makes his way over to where Hamilton is. He sits opposite him and deposits the drink in front of the other man with a smile.

Hamilton gives him a strange look. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” Thomas responds before he realizes that he hadn't come up with any excuse for coming over here. He wracks his brain for something, but the silence drags for a second while Hamilton suspiciously sips his coffee.

“So _how_ can I help you?” Hamilton asks him, his voice implying that he thinks Thomas might be dense.

Thomas realizes the only excuse that Hamilton will accept is going to be class-related. The only class he has with Hamilton and not Madison is Con Law, so that's his only in. And they have an exam on Monday. So he's going to just, ask him to study. It's easy. It's smooth. He can be smooth. Just like asking him on a date, just ease into it, just be cool and collected and—“You never study with anyone,” he blurts out. So much for cool and collected, he berates himself.

“Well, that's because I don't have any friends in law school with me,” Hamilton responds coldly, and there's a pause, just the slightest pause, after he says _I don't have any friends_ , before he finishes the sentence, like he realizes at the last minute how depressing that sounds, and Thomas' heart aches for him. “I'm sure Madison would study with you if you asked,” he adds, which is absolutely true, but also not at all why Thomas is _here_.

“Madison isn't in our Con Law class,” he tells Hamilton, like the other man doesn't already know that. He's given up on being cool and collected. He didn't think before he spoke, and now he's stuck sounding like a fucking idiot, but hopefully it catches Hamilton off guard? He's reaching and he knows it.

“No, he isn't. Look, did you have a specific question, or...?” Hamilton asks, and Thomas can tell he's just trying to find a point to this conversation, and right, Thomas hasn't asked any questions yet.

“Study with me. After dinner. Please? We have that exam on Monday, and I reserved a study room in the library,” Thomas says, in a rush, the words stumbling over each other in their haste to get out of his mouth. Smooth, he thinks to himself sharply.

Hamilton looks at him appraisingly, looking for something in his face, Thomas isn't sure what, but then he says, “Yeah, sure, what time?”

Thomas sighs in relief, then smiles. “Seven. I have room 2B reserved.” He'll have to break it to James that he usurped that time, but if he just fucking _listens_ , it should be fine. He glances at his watch, and realizes that his five minutes to quickly grab coffee has stretched into close to fifteen minutes. “I have to get back to James, we're getting dinner together soon. I'll see you at seven.” And he winks—he fucking _winks_ , why the hell does he wink?—as he stands and leaves, heading back over to James, who is sitting outside.

James looks Thomas over as he walks up. “I see you forgot my drink,” he observes coldly. “Did you at least get her number?”

“Okay,” Thomas says with forced calm as he sits across from James. “Please don't interrupt me before I've finished explaining. So I saw Hamilton sitting by the counter—”

“God dammit, Tom, we've talked about this,” James groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And he's as depressed as always,” Thomas continues as if James hadn't interrupted.

“Well, he—” James starts, but Thomas bowls right over him.

Thomas pulls out his phone as he speaks, leaning close and dropping his voice to a barely audible whisper, “And I'm pretty sure he's _cutting_ himself, and I had to do something.” He shoves zooms in on the picture he took and shoves it in front of James' face, pausing for him to look at it.

James takes the phone, and looks at it appraisingly. He sighs, handing it back. “Okay, so what did you do?” he asks Thomas quietly.

“We're studying for Monday's Con Law exam together. And we're using the study room I'd booked for us this evening. Sorry, I couldn't think of anything else that he would've agreed to.”

James is quiet for a moment, clearly thinking, rubbing the thumb of his right hand against his left wrist, where Thomas knows there's a scar. “Fine, but no fighting and if you kiss him I reserve the right to punch you in the face,” James tells him seriously.

Thomas grins at him, standing and pulling James to his feet, air kissing him on either side of the face. “Thank you, ma moitié, I owe you one.”  
James rolls his eyes. “I thought after being back in the states for a year and a half you would have shook off the French.”

Thomas grins at him, linking their arms and leading him across campus. “Never.”

–

Thomas shows up at seven on the dot, and Hamilton is already sitting there, putting the last of his books on the table. He glances up as Thomas walks in, and Thomas shoots him a charming smile and drops a Ziploc bag with a couple cookies in it in front of him. “As a thank you. James and I made cookies this afternoon.”

Hamilton looks at the cookies appraisingly, picking up the bag and opening it. “Oatmeal raisin?”

“Oatmeal chocolate chip,” Thomas corrects him, a hand flying to his chest in mock offense. “I'm a moderate, not tasteless.”

Hamilton lets out a small chuckle, pulling out a cookie as Thomas sits down and pulls out his own textbooks and laptop. “Thank you,” he says quietly. He takes a bite of the cookie and hums in approval. “This is amazing,” he adds, sounding shocked.

“It better be, I spent four years in France learning to cook,” Jefferson tells him warmly. Hamilton shoots him a surprised look. “I had an idea that I was going to open a French restaurant in Virginia, but...” He shrugs. “I don't know, with the political situation when I got back, it didn't seem like a worthwhile pursuit anymore.”

Hamilton smiles at him, a real smile, and says, “I know what you mean. I always thought I would...” Hamilton shakes his head. “Well, nevermind, it wasn't something worth doing.” There's silence for a moment, not uncomfortable, but not comfortable either. Hamilton breaks it by saying, “Alright, let's talk about how Trump is destroying our constitution.”

And it goes surprisingly _well_ , by Thomas' estimation. They don't fight—because they're talking facts, not opinions, and Hamilton smiles _a lot_. He eats both the cookies that Thomas has brought and after an hour, Thomas leaves to get them coffee. And when he comes back, Hamilton's hand comes off his wrist and his face lights up, almost as if he thought Thomas wasn't going to come back, and they dive back in on the subject again, and by the time they wrap up at midnight, he's actually convinced that he's going to do _better on the exam_ , which hadn't even been the point of the exercise.

Right as they're about to part ways, Thomas has a surge of _something_ in his chest (and something, yeah right, he knows what it is, it's his stupid crush), and he grabs Hamilton by the shoulders, kissing the air on either side of his face, and then pulls back. Instead of looking shocked or weirded out, Hamilton smiles at him, and Thomas can't help but feel a little breathless at the sight. Hamilton fishes a business card out of his wallet, writes something on the back of it, and hands it to Thomas. “You're not a half bad study partner. Text me if you ever need help with anything else.”

Thomas takes the card, and his stupid mouth says, “Yeah, sure, definitely, will do,” before he can tell it to say something more eloquent.

And he thinks Hamilton blushes, but he's not sure, and the other man turns around, saying, “See you around,” and then he's gone.

Thomas stares at the card in his hands, reads it like six times, running his fingers over the embossing. It's weird that Hamilton has business cards, but it's for his internship with the ACLU, of all things, and maybe Hamilton is just the kind of guy that has business cards or something, what would Thomas know about that.

And really, what would Thomas know, because the card reads _Cpl. Alexander Hamilton,_ which means that Hamilton must have served, and Thomas hadn't known that. Thomas doesn't really know anything about Hamilton other than his politics and that he cheated on his most recent ex. But they're only just becoming friends (he hopes their becoming friends), and maybe he'll get to learn more about him.

Eventually, he flips the card over, types the number scrawled on the back into his phone and texts him, _Hamilton, this is Thomas, so you can reach me if you need anything._

Hamilton doesn't respond right away, but he's probably just on his way home and too busy to check his phone. Thomas stands there stupidly for a moment, his heart in his heart waiting for a response, even though he knows he's not likely to get one right away. Then he shakes himself, feeling stupid, and shoots a text off to James, _Are you still up?_

_Yes,_ James responds immediately. Then, _Is something wrong? Tell me you didn't kiss him._

_I didn't,_ Thomas types back, sends it. _Well, not like that._ Then, _He gave me his number._ Then, _I think I'm in over my head._

_Come over here immediately,_ James sends back. _And take a deep breath._

_Okay._ Thomas takes a deep breath, tucks the business card and his phone carefully into his pocket, and then runs a hand through his hair before heading over to James' place.

–

James opens the door before Thomas has a chance to knock and looks the other man up and down before sighing. “Come in.” He steps back and gestures him inside. Thomas comes in and loiters awkwardly on the threshold while James closes the door. James turns to look at him and rolls his eyes. “Sit, I'll make you a hot chocolate.”

Thomas sits on a bar stool at the island in the kitchen and drops his bag on the floor pulling out his phone and the business card. He puts the phone on the counter and fidgets with the card as James mixes them each hot chocolate and then he turns to Thomas, takes a sip of his hot chocolate and says, “Spill.”

“He's so _nice_ ,” Thomas says immediately, his voice sounding small to his own ears, and James sighs.

“Right, so here's what you're going to do,” James tells him. “You are going to _be his friend,_ because god knows he needs one, and you are going to consult me before you try to ask him out so I can talk you out of it.”

Thomas nods immediately, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. His phone buzzes on the counter, and he almost knocks over the cup of hot chocolate in his haste to grab it. Hamilton has texted him back. _Call me Alex._

“That face. Stop making that face,” James tells him. Thomas looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “Don't give me that look. You're trying to be his friend first, remember. So stop making stupid, goofy faces or you'll chase him off.”

Thomas sighs, putting the phone down and picking up the hot chocolate. “You're right.”

“I know I'm right. I'm always right. Now finish that up and then _go home_ , so I can get some sleep and we can work on our essays tomorrow morning.”

Thomas chugs the drink, thanks James for his hospitality and then walks the two blocks to his own apartment, fingering the business card in his pocket as he does.

When he gets home, he immediately puts the card up on his cork board and then goes to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

The study session was _nice_. Thomas—and he's Thomas now, has to be if they're going to actually talk to each other—Thomas was insightful and clever, and he'd smiled every time Alex said something smart. Which... Alex didn't really know what to make of that. But it had been five hours of feeling warm and something close to happy for the first time in two and a half months, and even after they parted ways, the cold knot in his chest had been gone for hours.

And he'd handed Thomas his business card, cell number impulsively written on the back of it, after Thomas had kissed the air on either side of his face, reminding him painfully of Lafayette. And why wouldn't he? Thomas had apparently spent _four years_ in France.

Actually, now that Hamilton thought of it, he might have known Lafayette. He remembers Lafayette mentioning a beautiful American man that he met shortly after moving back to Paris.

So once he's tucked into a study table in a back corner of the library, he pulls out his phone to text him, and sees a text from Thomas. It's just to give him his number, but he smiles anyways, and shoots back _Call me Alex_ , because if he's going to call the man Thomas, they might as well mutually be on a first-name basis.

Then he pulls up Lafayette, whose name is still “Gilbert Lancelot” in his phone, and sends him a text. _Hey, that beautiful American chef you extolled the virtues of a few years back, was that by any chance Thomas Jefferson?_

A few minutes later, he gets a response, _Il est six heures du martin, mon lion. But, oui, his name was Thomas Jefferson. Why do you ask?_

_Because he's one of my classmates at Harvard. I didn't even put it together until he told me he'd study cooking in France,_ Alex shoots back.

He can practically feel Lafayette perk up on the other line. _Mmm, oui. Et? He is very handsome, non?_

Alex smiles. _Yes. And... I thought he was a jerk, but he's actually kind of nice._

_Oui, very nice. Very good with his mouth,_ Lafayette responds, and Alex's cheeks heat up.

_I didn't need to know that._

_C'est dommage. You could use the cheering up after Eliza left you._

_I don't want to talk about that._

There's a longer pause than usual, and he thinks that Lafayette has fallen back asleep, but then he receives, _You need to move on, mon lion. Je dis ca, je dis rien. Now, I am going back to sleep. I intend to have a, how you say, fat morning?_

_Sleep in. Goodnight, Gil._

_Bonne nuit, mon ami._

Alex rubs at his eyes and pulls out his Civil Procedure textbook and skimming over the chapters they are set to go over next week.

He moves from that to writing a paper for his Torts class. He writes it once, then scraps the whole thing and starts over. By the time he's done, it's eight in the morning and he packs his stuff up and stands, stretching. He's not sure what he's going to do over the weekend, but thinks he has to figure something out and decides to start with a coffee.

–

Alex is sitting in a laundry mat working some more on his torts paper while his clothes run in the washer when his phone rings. He fumbles trying to pick it up and puts it to his ear. “What's up, Herc?” he says with false cheer.

“I'm just checking on you. How's the new place?” Hercules responds.

“Oh, it's alright. I'm out doing laundry right now,” Alex tells him.

“Yeah?” he asks. “You're doing alright?”

Alex's fingers itch to pick at a scab, but he's wearing his wrist braces so they're covered up. “Yeah. I mean, a little stressed out, I have a couple exams this week, but I'm doing alright.”

Hercules seems to hear something in his voice that Alex is sure isn't there. “Are you sure you're alright? Because I will schlep out to Boston if you need me to. Just say the word, and we can get wasted together, just like old times.”

Alex huffs out a laugh. “I'm sure. How's Eliza?”

Hercules hesitates. “She's fine. Her job is going well. I'll see her and Angelica tonight for dinner.” There's just the slightest pause before he says Angelica.

Alex sighs. “It's a double date. Who's the guy?” he asks.

“You need to move on, man,” Hercules tells him. “It's not healthy to dwell on her, man.”

Which is as close to _He's a better match than you_ as he's going to get from Hercules. “I'm not dwelling,” Alex tells him. “We were friends first. I just want to make sure she's doing alright.”

“She's doing fine. You make sure to take care of yourself, okay? I'm getting a call from work, so I have to go.”

“Bye,” Alex tells him, but hes sure Hercules has already hung up. After a moment his washer beeps and he moves his clothes over to the drier, trying to force the conversation from his mind.

–

It's late afternoon, and Alex is laying on his couch in the dark in his storage unit, staring at the ceiling he can just barely see from the sun peaking under the crack under the door. He closes his eyes and tries to will his body to sleep. He's barely slept ten hours in the last week, he knows he should be exhausted, even he doesn't feel like he is. And it must work, because before he realizes he's fallen asleep he's awoken by his phone ringing. Two calls in one day is weird, but he figures Hercules must have talked to John. “Hey,” he says quietly into the line.

“Hey, Alex. It's John. How are you holding up? I've already talked to Gil and Herc so don't say fine,” John says with a sort of quiet seriousness.

Alex sighs. “I don't know, man. I don't really feel anything, so I don't know what you guys expect me to say. I'm not upset or anything. I'm fine.”

“You don't feel anything?” John parrots back to him. His mind is as sharp as a whip, so there's no way that was going to get past him. “You're not...”

“I'm _fine_ ,” Alex tells him seriously. “You guys don't have to worry. I'm even making new friends.”

The change in John's tone softens immediately. “Yes, Gil did say something about you're new _friend_.”

“Oh, come off it, he's being ridiculous. Thomas and I are just barely friends.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Thomas? As in Thomas _Jefferson_? I thought we hated that guy.”

Alex shrugs. “I don't know. We did. But he's... I don't know, he may be a dick about politics, but he's actually kind of... nice. And he baked me cookies.”

John laughs, and the sound makes Alex smile. “Ah, yes. The quickest way to your heart. I distinctly remember trying that one myself.”

“Well, the good news is that Thomas is a much better baker than you. But I still like you better,” Alex tells him warmly.

“You _better_ like me more, or so help me I'm going to come up there and make you regret it.”

Alex laughs in response. “Don't worry, I'm not about to replace my best friend.”

They go back and forth, talking about nothing of particular importance for close to an hour, Alex catching up John on all the gossip he's missed since he had to take a leave of absence from Harvard to take care of his mother. Eventually, John has to go give his mother some medication, and they hang up. Alex slumps back on the couch, carefully balancing his phone on his lap and falls back asleep.

–

Alex walks into his Con Law class more well-rested than he's been in probably close to a month. Thomas smiles at him when he catches his eye, and Alex smiles back, feeling the knot in his chest unclench a little at the warmth in Thomas' eyes.

The exam itself goes fairly well. Alex finishes first, handing his work to Professor Lee with a polite smile before heading out to the coffee stand in front of the building.

Thomas catches up to him outside, and Alex buys his coffee and waves off Thomas' protests. He's not going to let Thomas buy all the coffee, what kind of friend does that. “What'd you think?” Alex asks him as they make their way to a nearby bench, clutching their coffees in both hands to fend off the cold.

“It was... easier than I expected,” Thomas tells him.

Alex nods and takes the first sip of his coffee, pulling a face. “Oh gross, this is yours.”

Thomas snorts and trades him easily. “Oh yes, milk, how disgusting.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. “It is if you're lactose intolerant.”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “Well, I suppose I'll have to let that minor defect slide.” He checks his watch. “Hey, I have another class in five minutes, so I have to go, but thanks for the coffee.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alex says, standing to wave him off, but Thomas quickly leans in and does the double kiss thing.

“Have a good morning, I'll see you in Washington's class,” Thomas tells him, and then he's off.

Alex sits back down, turning his stupid smile to his coffee, and then he hears someone mutter, “You think he's going to cheat on him, too?” and the good mood is wiped from Alex's mind. He stands and makes his way to the library to look over his essay for his Torts class one more time before he has to make his way to his Legal Methods class.

–

His sour mood is broken by his debate class that afternoon, though. It's the first time he's actually enjoyed the class in _months_. And when he gets particularly fiery and sharp about a political point, he realizes he's almost been cruel, and he throws Thomas an apologetic smile to counter it. Thomas smiles back at him before launching into an equally passionate rant and Alex thinks he maybe feels _good_ for the first time in months and he savors the moment, despite the bitter words pouring out of Thomas' mouth.

And before he knows it, the class is over, and he stands, throwing his bag over his shoulder and Washington gives him a relieved-looking smile and Alex makes it out of the classroom feeling almost human. As he's making his way out of the building he hears Thomas call, “Hey, Alex!”

He stops and turns, watching as Thomas drags an annoyed looking Madison towards him. “Hey,” Alex says with a smile.

“Hey, you want to come over to mine for dinner? Jemmy and I are going to go over our essays for Torts one last time before sending them in, and you could join us? The essay's worth so much of our grade a second and third set of eyes wouldn't hurt?” Thomas offers, his words a flurry, his accent leaving him as he speaks so quickly, which Alex finds stupidly charming.

“Yeah, sure,” he agrees without pausing to think it over for even a second, without pausing to consider the look Madison is giving him, which is verging on dirty.

“Great, I'll text you my address. Food should be ready in, like, two hours, okay?” Thomas smiles brilliantly at him when he nods in agreement. “Okay, see you then. Come on, Jemmy.”

Alex watches them go, furrowing his brow when Madison gives him another dirty look.

Once they're out of sight, Alex sighs and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. He decides to go for a run before heading over, thinking he needs the time to clear his head, and puts his hair up as he heads for the gym.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments and feedback! Hope y'all continue to enjoy. New chapter should go up Thursday.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am a day late, I am so sorry, my people. Next chapter will still be up tomorrow. Sorry again!

“I can't believe you invited him to our dinner,” James complains as Thomas pulls him into his apartment.

“He's my friend. Your my friend. I'm having dinner with my friends,” Thomas tells him plaintively, putting his bag down by the couch before heading to the kitchen to wash his hands.

“I'm your _best friend_ ,” James whines. “This is our best friend thing,”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “You were my _only_ friend, so that's sort of irrelevant.”

James glares at Thomas as he starts chopping onions. “Well I don't like him.”

Thomas gives him a sharp look. “You've never spoken to him. He's nice. Just... give him a chance, okay? One time and if you still don't like him, this will be the end of it, okay?”

James watches Thomas chop vegetables, thinking. Finally, he says, “Even if I decide I like him, that doesn't mean I like him _for you_.”

Thomas clears his throat, and it might be the onions, or it might be to keep from growling in annoyance, he's not even sure himself. “Look, Jemmy, we talked about this. We agreed about this. This is just me being friendly. If I was flirting, I would have kicked you out.” Thomas puts olive oil in a pan and sets it over the stove on low heat, swirling it after a second to test how much the oil moves before adding the onions. He mixes some yeast into warm water, then turns to his onions, tossing them.

“I know,” James relents. He watches Thomas carefully as he adds garlic to the pan. “I just don't want to see you get hurt.”

“Well,” Thomas says curtly, “that is rather more up to me. You can't just go through life trying not to get hurt. You never get to be happy that way.”

James looks away from Thomas' expression. “I know.”

“You have to move on from Kitty sometime,” Thomas tells him. “It's been almost six years, you have to let her go.”

James drums his fingers on the counter and doesn't say anything to that.

Thomas shoves a bowl into his hands along with a whisk. “Stir,” he directs before going back to his onions and adding some spices before tossing them. When he turns back to James he takes the whisk and replaces it with a spatula before dumping some flour into the bowl. “Fold.”

While he's folding, James finally clears his throat and mumbles, “I'm sorry.”

“C’est oublié,” Thomas responds easily. Then he snatches the bowl away from James. “You're over-mixing it,” he complains, but he smiles as he does, setting James back at ease. “Can you text him my address? I forgot.”

“Where's your phone?” James asks, standing as Thomas turns back to his onions, adding a can of tomatoes.

“Front right pocket.”

James reaches around him to fish it out. “You're so lazy,” he grumbles.

“Do you know how many germs are on a phone?” Thomas demands. “You don't want that shit in your food, I promise you.”

–

There's a knock on the door, but Thomas is in the middle of cooking the naan, so without looking up he calls, “Door.”

He hears James grumbling as he crosses to the door. “Hello, Hamilton. Welcome to Thomas' apartment. Please come in and I'll give you the tour,” he greets dryly.

“It's Alex,” Thomas hears him respond quietly.

“Well, Alex,” James says, taking it in stride, “let me show you around. Here is the kitchen, where you can see Thomas is way too occupied making bread to properly greet his own guest.”

Thomas glances over with a smile at Alex. “Naan is almost done, then I'll dish out dinner.”

Alex smiles back, seeming uncharacteristically shy.

“And here is the living room. Open right up to the kitchen with huge windows. It's literally the only thing Tom cares about in a home, so the rest of the place is pretty boring,” James tells Alex.

Alex mumbles something in response, but Thomas doesn't hear it. James chuckles though.

“And through to our right is his bedroom, and to our left the guest bedroom and bathroom. Put your bag anywhere, and have a seat at the table, I'm sure he won't keep us waiting,” James instructs before crossing over to hover behind Thomas.

“Almost done,” Thomas tells him, rolling his eyes and smacking a hand away as James reaches for the curry. “Patience is a virtue,” he chides.

“Well, you better remove that apron before you serve us, I think you're giving Alex an existential crisis.”

Thomas frowns and glances down to see that he'd put on the apron that Lafayette had got him, that said, in neat script, _Une pipe pour le cuisinier,_ and he colors red.

“What the hell does it say, anyways?” James asks.

“I would say that I'll tell you later, but I suspect you do not actually want to know the answer.”

James gives him a look, but takes each bowl that Thomas fill to the table anyways.

Thomas quickly shucks the apron and grabs the last bowl and the plate of naan before heading to the table. He carefully sets them down before taking a seat. He turns to smile at Alex, but he is studiously looking at his food. “My apologies, I didn't realize you spoke French. It was a gift from...”

“Gil,” Alex finishes for him, looking up with a mirthful smile. “I'd recognize his taste anywhere.”

“You know Gil?” Thomas asks, taken aback a bit. But then, Gil might have mentioned an Alex...

“Yeah. He was a reporter tasked to our unit. He was tougher than most of us.” Alex flashed him a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Anyways, this smells amazing.”

“Bon apetite,” Thomas responds easily, picking up his own fork and taking a bite. He's reaching for a piece of naan, when Alex makes a strangled noise and he looks up, frowning.

He shouldn't have worried, though. Alex has a look of pure joy on his face, and he carefully swallows before saying, a little breathless, “This is the best food I've ever eaten.”

Thomas flushes and looks down at his plate. “Thank you.”

“Seriously,” Alex repeats. “Holy shit.”

Thomas carefully scoops some of his own food onto his naan without looking up.

“Don't mind him, he's shy about the one thing he's actually any good at,” James tells Alex mildly, and Thomas knows that he's thrown in an exaggerated eye roll.

Thomas sees Alex nod out of the corner of his eye, and then he goes back to eating with a sort of ferocity that comes only from the very hungry. Thomas puts another bite into his mouth and then shoots a questioning look at James, who nods and gives him a thumb up for the flavor, and he relaxes back into his chair.

“Well, I'm glad you like it. There's more if you're hungry,” Thomas offers easily. “I plated it to look good, not for portion.”

James gives him a side-eye, but Alex, after only a moment's hesitation, nods, popping his last bite in his mouth. Thomas stands, smiling, and grabs Alex's bowl, heading back to the kitchen to carefully fill it with more food than the last round and then returns, puts it down in front of Alex before grabbing himself a second piece of naan.

They all finish at roughly the same time, Alex slowing as he gets to the end of his second bowl. “Thank you,” Alex says again, with a sort of reverence that Thomas is not entirely comfortable with.

“Yeah, of course. Here, I'll get the dishes, you two—”

“Nope,” James cuts him off, batting his hands away. “You cooked, we'll clean up. You go pull up your computer or something.”  
Thomas gives James a look. It isn't in the other man's nature to demand to clean up. He's more likely to complain when he gets roped up into drying dishes. “Okay,” he agrees softly, standing up and heading into his bedroom.

He takes a second to look at himself in the ensuite mirror before heading out with his laptop, just to make sure there's nothing wrong with the way he looks, but he doesn't see anything out of place. He grabs his phone as he heads out to the living room, shooting off a text to Gil about the apron getting him into trouble, and why hadn't he said anything about knowing the guy he'd been gushing at him about for a year.

He gets a response just as Alex and James are finishing up, which reads, _No way your Alex is mon petite lion! Sacre bleu! Had I known I would have been more eager in telling you to, as you say, “go for it”. ;)_

Thomas isn't sure what he means by that, but he tucks his phone in his pocket as James and Alex join him on the couch, Alex with a weird look on his face that Thomas can't quite decipher.

James breezes right into his essay as soon as they have their laptops up, way more outgoing than he usually is around anyone other than Thomas, and within no time they are carefully picking apart each others' essays to make sure that there is nothing out of line. Alex is quiet but exact in picking out each mistake he finds, and he never says something is wrong without giving a workable solution to it.

It's all very companionable until they come around to Alex's essay and James absolutely _destroys_ it. Thomas is pretty sure that he's doing it just to be difficult, but with each passing criticism, Alex goes paler, and more curled in on himself, quietly nodding and making edits as the mistakes are pointed out.

And then, as soon as he's done with that, James announces, “I have to go, early class tomorrow. Have a good night,” and leaves.

Alex sits awkwardly for a second, staring blankly at his screen.

“Sorry about him,” Thomas says quietly. “He was in some sort of mood this evening.” He reaches over and gives Alex's shoulder a squeeze with a reassuring smile.

Alex jumps, clearly shocked to be touched, and then shakes his head. “Uh, yeah, it's no problem. I should... I should go, too, sorry.” He moves quickly, but he is meticulous about packing up his laptop exactly.

He practically runs for the door, but Thomas' legs are longer so he catches him, smiles his most brilliant smile and grabs Alex's shoulders, kissing the air on either side of his face. “Have a good night, Alexander,” he says with as much warmth as he can put in it.

And he's rewarded by Alex's face lighting up. “Yeah, you too. And thanks again for dinner, it really was superb.” And then he goes on his toes to press a quick kiss to Thomas' cheek before leaving the apartment.

Thomas puts a hand to his cheek as he watches Alex leave, sure that he must be blushing embarrassingly even through his dark complexion, but Alex is gone before he can see it.

He locks the door behind him and then slowly makes his way back to the couch, dropping down onto it and picking up his phone. He shoots a text to Gil, _He fucking kissed me on the cheek????_ Before sending a fucking paragraphs-long essay in text to James about how rude he was.

 _Whatever,_ comes James response. _I'm trying to protect you. And besides, even you have to admit that his essay was all over the place._

And well, James isn't _wrong_ about Alex's essay. Thomas is pretty sure that Alex hasn't been sleeping, he's definitely not been eating well, and he has a sneaking suspicion that he knows why that is.

They may not be extremely close, she's more James' friend than his, but he knows that Eliza moved in with Angelica after she left Alex. And he also knows that she was making most of the money in their household. He's pretty sure that Alex, despite his internship with the ACLU is homeless. He isn't certain enough to say anything to Gil, or god forbid, to the man himself, but he's certain enough that every fiber in him itches to feed him and bury him in blankets. It's a fucking cold time of year to be homeless.

–

Thomas wakes up to a text from Gil. _He probably didn't mean anything by it. I'll look into it. Don't do anything rash, mon ami._ Which is a little cryptic, but then again this whole situation is driving Thomas crazy. Just remembering the brief brush of Alex's lips against his cheek makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest, but he knows Gil is probably right, so he takes a deep breath to center himself, and then starts to get ready for the day.

The rest of his day is punctuated with texts from Gil. One during his first class that reads, _He was tired. He was treating you like he would Laurens, Hercules, or myself._

Then at lunch, _He doesn't even know what he wants, homme stupide._

And in the middle of his afternoon Civil Law lecture, _Don't tell him I am telling you this, he is being paranoid, prend la tete._ Which is a little bit of an absurd thing to say, considering that Gil is literally reporting back to Thomas on what Alex is saying to him.

Thomas spots Alex in line at a cafe and cuts in front of three people to get to him and kisses the air on either side of his face, smiling at him. “You turned in that essay?” he asks.

“Yes,” Alex says looking more at his own shoes than at Thomas. “Thank you for your help with that. It really was a mess.”

Thomas hums noncommittally. “We all have a lot on our plates, something always slips through the cracks.” And then it's their turn at the counter, at without missing a beat, he says, “One large coffee, two extra shots, three sugars, and one small coffee with a pat of butter.” The barista nods and takes the offered card, handing it back and Thomas leads Alex over to the counter to wait.

“You didn't have to do that,” Alex tells him, a little bit of reproach creeping into his voice.

Thomas waves him off. “I like buying things for my friends,” he says easily, the same thing he said to James a thousand times until he stopped complaining every time Thomas showed up at his door with coffee or a gift. “My parents left me the money to do it, so it doesn't hurt anything.”

Alex nods, that tiny bit of fight leaving him and waits for their drinks quietly. He's leaning slightly into Thomas, and Thomas wonders if he even knows he's doing it. Even without touching him, he can tell that Alex is cold. When there coffee's come up, Thomas slings an arm around Alex's shoulder and leads him over to table. The shorter man is practically cold to the touch, and Thomas grimaces inwardly at that.

Alex slides into the both, and instead of sitting opposite him, Thomas slides in next to him, letting Alex steal just a little bit more of his body heat as they drink their coffees. “Hey, while I have you, I wanted to invite you to dinner next Thursday?” Thomas offers smoothly.

“That's Thanksgiving,” Alex says quietly.

“Yes. James and I are having a dinner together here in Boston, and if you came then all my friends would be there.” Thomas smiles at him reassuringly when Alex looks a little overwhelmed at the thought. “That means just the three of us,” he says softly. “James is terrible with crowds, it wouldn't do to overwhelm him.”

Alex looks at him thoughtfully, his eyes slightly narrowed as if he's trying to read Thomas' mind. Thomas hopes he's not successful, because he's mostly thinking about how beautiful Alex's eyes are and how much he wants to run the finger's through his long hair.

“Are you going to be cooking?”

Thomas laughs. “Yes. And I promise to only allow James minimal tasks to help, nothing he can ruin.”

“Yeah, of course, thank you,” Alex agrees, smiling warmly.

Thomas feels his heart skip a beat at the warm look on Alex's face. “Thank _you_ ,” he responds, then glances at his watch. “Sorry, I have to go, I'm going to be late to my next class. I'll text you the details later.” He hugs Alex into his side for just a second before he goes.

–

_Alex told me, and I quote, “Thomas is being suspiciously nice to me.” What did you do, mon chou?_

Thomas reads the text, brows furrowed. _I asked him to Thanksgiving with Jemmy and I._ He pauses then adds, _And I bought him coffee_.

_So you're feeding him?_

_I feed everyone I like. He just needs it a little more than most._

There is a long pause, where Thomas sees the little “...” symbol on the screen for a long time and thinks that he's about to get a book, but all he ends up with is, _Explain._

Thomas hesitates, biting his lip. He isn't sure what to say to that, doesn't want to go spilling private details about Alex's life to someone whose relationship with the man he isn't sure about. But he's also pretty sure that they're friends, especially if they served together, especially if he could tell at a glance that his embarrassing apron was a gift from Gil, so he ends up hedging instead of ignoring him entirely. _He's not doing well._

Gil's response is almost instantaneous. _I would appreciate more details than that, mon ami._

 _I don't know if I can. It's not my story to tell, and I only have suspicions._ Thomas responds. Before he can get an angry text from Gil for avoiding the question, he adds, _But... il est mal en point._ He pauses before adding, _I think he's homeless._

 _Merde_.

Gil doesn't say anything else, so Thomas sighs and stands up from his couch and starts to get ready for bed.

Once he's comfortably under the covers, he pulls out his phone and texts James, _So Alex is coming to Thanksgiving dinner and you are not going to be a tool about it._

Within seconds, James texts him back. _Well, okay then._

Thomas plugs in his phone and snuggles under the covers more tightly, feeling a little chilled just thinking about how cold Alex probably is.

He's mostly asleep when he hears a knock at his door. He stumbles out of bed, taking one of his blankets with him as he goes to answer the door, and is shocked that Alex is there, looking a little worse for wear.

“Alex, uh, come in...?” Thomas steps back from the door and motions Alex inside.

Alex comes in, paces back and forth a couple times, then turns on a dime to face straight towards Thomas. “Look, I know you've been gossiping to Gil about me, and I want to be mad about it, but it's fucking cold, and you're the only person who knows I'm homeless.”

Thomas blinks at the onslaught of words, then sighs. “Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just... blab everything to Gil, he just—”

“He just always catches on to whatever it is you don't say and will hound you until you say it outright, I know.” Alex sighs. “He's a journalist, I think it's just how he is.”

There's a moment of uncomfortable silence, but then Thomas clears his throat and pushes Alex towards the guest bedroom. “There are already clean sheets on the bed, make yourself at home, and I'll make you breakfast in the morning.” Alex stiffens slightly, so he adds, “Look, I'm not doing this out of pity, okay, I—”

“You like me,” Alex finishes for him. “And you take care of people you like. I know, Gil told me.” He smiles, and the look is a little fragile. “I... Gil talked me into coming here, actually fucking called me from France to yell at me, and I don't...” Alex looks away. “I don't like asking for help. So thank you. I'll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

Thomas catches Alex's arm as he starts to turn away. “Hey,” he says softly. “You aren't a burden, okay? Stay as long as you need to. I would have offered earlier myself, but I... I didn't want to assume.”

Alex meets Thomas' eyes for a second before looking away and smiling self-deprecatingly. “Well, if you had I probably would have stormed off, so it's better this way.”

Thomas releases his arm, sighing in relief. “Okay. Well, as I said, make your self at home. Stay as long as you need to. There are extra blankets in the closet if you need them.”

He waits for Alex to nod before turning and going back to his room. He cocoons himself in his blankets before taking a moment to assess the situation and think that everything has spun wildly out of his control.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, new chapter today. Have a good weekend! I'll be back Monday. =)

_How is one suspiciously nice?_ Gil's text reads.

_I don't know. He just keeps. Making me food. And buying me coffee. And I don't now. He smiles too much,_ Alex responds, frown at his screen and curling more into his blankets to keep from getting any colder.

_Nonsense, mon lion. He just likes you._ Gil responds, with a slight delay.

_I don't think it's just that._ There is a long break in responses after that, and Alex thinks that maybe Gil has fallen asleep, and he feels himself slipping under despite the cold (or maybe because of it, a voice in the back of his head supplies). But before he is quite asleep his phone rings with a call from Gil.

“Gil?” Alex asks sleepily. “You never—”

“Cous etes comme un balai, mon lion,” Gil starts, furious, and the pet name does not belay the anger in his tone. “I know you 'ave been mal en point since Eliza left you, but this is too much. You are... more than fauche comme les bles. You are _'omeless_.”

“Where did you—” Alex tries.

“Quand j'ai entendu ca, la moutarde m'est montee au nez!” Gil continues, as if he hadn't been interrupted. “You are going to go to Thomas and ask for un coup de main.”

“ _Thomas_ told you?” Alex hisses. “I knew he was being too nice. I knew he—”

“ _Fiare taire_ ,” Gil snaps. “'e likes you. 'e is worried. 'e does not know what to do. You are very difficult.” Gil sighs. “You need to ask for 'elp.”

“I'm fine,” Alex growls, not sure if he's shaking from anger or the cold. “I don't need anyone's help.”

“You will ask Thomas, or I will send 'ercules,” Gil tells him, tone brokering no argument.

“I don't need—”

“John, then,” Gil cuts him off ruthlessly. “'e knows quelque chose qui cloche. 'e is worried, too.”

“No, don't,” Alex begs, all the fight leaving him.

“Then ask Thomas for help,” Gil tells him coldly.

“Okay,” Alex agrees. He feels so small and helpless against the brunt of Gil's fury, but... he _feels_ something, and that's an improvement, he thinks.

Gil sighs again, his voice softening when he says, “'e _likes_ you, Alex. 'e will 'elp you, and 'e will not think less of you.”

And something finally clicks in Alex's head. “You mean that he _likes_ me,” he says quietly.

“Oui, that is what I 'ave been saying,” Gil agrees.

“No, I mean—” Alex starts.

“ _I know what you mean,_ ” Gil interrupts him impatiently. “And oui, 'e does. But 'e does not expect anything from you. 'e knows you don't like 'im.”

“That's not true,” Alex whispers, because, fuck, it's _not_. Thomas is charming and nice and _hot_ , and he's maybe been out of it, maybe not been doing well, but he _likes_ Thomas.

That causes Gil to make a strange choking noise. “But Eliza—”

“The problem was never that I wasn't over Eliza,” Alex confesses. “There have been... extenuating circumstances.”

“'Extenuating circumstances'?” Gil repeats. “What does this mean? I 'ave not 'eard it before.”

“I just mean that things have happened that are complicated and only a little related to her breaking up with me.”

“Okay,” Gil says, though Alex can tell he doesn't follow. “This is... a conversation for another time, per'aps. Now, you pack a bag and you go to Thomas.”

“Don't tell him I... Don't tell him I like him. I want to tell him. When I'm ready.”

Alex can practically hear Gil roll his eyes. “Yes, of course, mon lion. Now _go_.” And then he hangs up, confident that he's cajoled Alex into behaving.

And he's not wrong, exactly, but Alex goes more because he's suddenly confident that there's something there. Maybe something small, but definitely it's there. And it centers him a little, even though he knows better than to get his hopes up. So he shoves a couple outfits and a pair of pajamas into his backpack and leaves the storage unit, locking it behind him.

–

Thomas takes Alex showing up at his door in stride, even though it is clear that Alex woke him by arriving. He's actually kind of surprised that Gil hasn't told Thomas he was coming, but then again, Gil probably wanted to give Alex a chance to do the right thing himself before causing a fight. Which is totally fair, if Alex is feeling honest, which he is feeling maybe a little more of than usual.

Laying on the stupidly soft bed in Thomas' guest room, Alex has a moment of pure clarity. Or, as pure as it can be. He can see why Gil was so mad, why Thomas was worried enough to give in and tell Gil what was going on. He was—is—a complete mess. Numb and depressed, unable to make friends or tell those closest to him what was going wrong. And he had... well, he hadn't handled himself well. He'd made a promise to John, and he hadn't been able to keep it, and he suddenly feels like the worst person in the world over it. He muffles a sob into his pillow. He's been so _fucked up_ and just far too close to see it, and he'd been pushing everyone away, refusing to even try for anything that would make him happy, and it's frankly amazing to him that anyone has put up with him.

He wraps the blankets a little bit more tightly around himself, feeling the cold that has been seeping into his bones more than he has felt anything in _months_. He presses his face into the pillows to muffle another quiet sob. He's been so _stupid_ and he should have known better. He _did_ know better. He knows how he can get, and every time he tells himself he won't let it happen again, but it always spirals so quickly out of control that he doesn't even _want_ to feel better, and he never manages to do anything to stop it from happening.

He sighs and wills himself to sleep, telling himself that he'll be better able to deal with it in the morning. He is asleep much quicker than he thought he would be, falling asleep almost as soon as he thinks that he should.

–

He wakes up when there's a quiet knock on the door and he's sitting up, squinting and blinking at it as Thomas pokes his head in.

“It's eight o'clock. Breakfast is on the table. You need to get a move on if you want to make it to Con Law on time,” Thomas tells him quietly before ducking out of the room.

Alex reaches for his phone, shocked that his alarm didn't go off, but finds that it's completely dead. He stretches his arms and his back pops satisfyingly as he does and he almost feels _normal._ It's a strange feeling. He can hear John in his head telling him that feeling good for one day is a good sign but not the end of the road, that he has to make an effort if he wants to come out of it completely, so he untangles himself from the blankets, brushes his hair back into a slightly less messy knot, and heads out to the main area of Thomas' apartment, quietly joining him at the table.

Alex takes a sip of the coffee Thomas has made him to center himself before he says with as much sincerity as he can manage, “Thank you.”

Thomas is looking at his own coffee instead of at Alex when he responds, “Yeah, of course. I... I am sorry that I told Gil, I—”

“No, don't...” Alex furrows his brow as he hesitates slightly. “Don't apologize. I... Thank you.” It's not as eloquent as he would like, but he just can't bring himself to say anything more.

“Did you sleep alright?” Thomas asks him, sensing that the subject needs changed.

“Yes, thank you,” Alex tells him, perking up. “Your bed is unbelievably comfortable.”

Thomas smiles at that, and it makes Alex feel warm inside to see it. “Well, it wouldn't be right to leave my guests uncomfortable,” Thomas tells him seriously.

Alex smiles back at him, before finally taking a bite of the omelet in front of him. “Oh my god, this is so good,” he half-moans after he swallows the bite.

He can just barely tell that Thomas blushes as he ducks his head slightly. “Thanks. It's nothing special, Just a fine herbs omelet,” he demurs.

“It doesn't have to be fancy to be good,” Alex tells him seriously. Then he adds, much quieter, “You didn't have to make me anything.”

“Well, I wanted to,” Thomas says, head coming up to meet Alex's eyes.

Alex takes a moment to really look at how _pretty_ Thomas' eyes are and thinks that they are maybe the most perfect coffee-brown in the whole world. After a second he realizes that he's gone quiet too long and looks back down at his omelet, cutting off another piece. “Thank you.”

Thomas stands from the table and takes Alex's empty coffee cup with him, returning a moment later with a fresh cup and setting it back down and leaning down close enough that Alex can just barely feel his breath on the side of his face. “I'm going to go finish getting ready. Hurry up or you'll be late.”

Alex nods, not trusting his voice in that moment. As soon as Thomas disappears, Alex gives up on all semblance of manors that he'd been putting up and scarfs down the rest of his omelet and chugs the second cup of coffee before heading back to the guest room to get his toothbrush and do a quick scrub of his teeth.

He makes it back to the living room at the same time as Thomas, and Thomas leads him outside, grabbing two sets of keys off the key rack.

“Here, this is the spare key. Come and go as you like, but make sure to lock up when you leave if I'm not home, okay?” he tells Alex.

“Yes, of course,” Alex agrees immediately. He lets his fingers just brush Thomas' as he takes the keys, and enjoys the way Thomas' fingers flex slightly at the touch, feeling tingles in his own finger tips at the contact.

Alex pockets the keys carefully as he follows Thomas down the stairs and to the subway station.

–

Alex and Thomas part ways after Con Law, and Alex grabs a coffee before sitting at a study table in the library and opening up his phone, seeing a text from Gil.

_Alright, mon ami, tell me about Thomas._

Alex rolls his eyes, but he can feel his heart fluttering in his chest as he starts to text back. _He made me breakfast this morning. He flushes whenever you compliment his cooking. It's endearing._

_Mmm, that it is._ Gil agrees.

Alex purses his lips, remembering suddenly that Gil had definitely at least _slept_ with Thomas. _It's not going to be weird if I... you know._

_Non, mon lion. Of course not. We were... how you say? Not serious._ Then in a second text he adds, _But he has une enorme bite.;)_

Alex flushes bright red. _Don't tell me that._

_Well you should be, shall we say, prepared, mon lion,_ Gil responds immediately.

_I can't talk to you when you are like this,_ Alex texts him, though a part of him is itching for more details.

_Is he with you now? Well, I will send you more details later. ;) Ta._

Alex puts his phone face down on the table, smiling to himself as his blush fades and he pulls out his laptop.

–

Alex glances up when from where he's seated on Thomas' couch when the door opens, but quickly turns back to his laptop, typing furiously. His hands are starting to hurt despite the wrist braces.

“Is this a bottle of wine?” Thomas asks skeptically, eying the label as he grabs the bottle off the counter.

“Gil said you would like it.” It'd been three days since he'd moved in, and he'd panicked about being an unwelcome guest and Gil had talked him down and told him to buy a bottle of wine in thanks.

“This is a hundred dollar bottle of wine,” Thomas says. “Why is this a hundred dollar bottle of wine?”

“Gil said you would like it,” Alex repeats, his voice squeaking on the end, panic starting to creep into him.

“I do like it,” Thomas reassures him. “Why did you get me this? You should save your money.”

Alex looks down at his hands, pinching the skin over his knuckles until it hurt. “I... you've opened your home to me, you've made me enough food and bought me enough cups of coffee to more than cover it. I don't want you to think I don't appreciate you.”

Thomas sighs, and Alex hears him looking through his cabinets, and Alex wants to know what Thomas is doing, but he also has the distinct impression that he has done something _wrong_ , so he doesn't look up, can't bear to see Thomas' face when he's mad at him.

Thomas appears at his side, pushing a cup of wine into Alex's hands and taking away his laptop. After a moment of looking determinedly at the glass, Alex looks up. Thomas smiles at him. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “But you didn't have to give me anything. I don't think that you're ungrateful. I can afford hundred dollar bottles of wine. You need to save your money for textbooks.”

Alex drops his gaze back to the glass of wine and Thomas sits next to him, holding his own glass.

“A ta sante,” Thomas says, holding his glass out to Alex.

“Sante,” Alex responds, gently clinking their glasses, and then they both take a small sip.

They sit in silence for a second before Thomas says, “Alex, look at me.” He waits for Alex to meet his gaze. “If I didn't want you here, believe me, I would kick you out. I'm happy to have you staying with me and not freezing to death on the street.”

“In a storage unit,” Alex corrects, then immediately looks away, cheeks flaming. “And that's not... It's not _just_ that.”

Thomas hums thoughtfully, taking a sip of his wine. Alex takes another sip of wine, and a deep breath, and he's _prepared_ to tell Thomas how he feels, but before he can, Thomas says, “Can I ask you what happened with you and Eliza?”

Alex is totally blindsided by the question and he looks at Thomas with furrowed brows. “Uh, you mean why we broke up?” Thomas gives a small nod before taking another sip of the wine. “Well, I, uh, I'm not sure.” Alex looks down at his hands, pinching hard on the knuckles of the hand holding the wine. “She got a job in New York and she said she... just didn't love me anymore.” Alex shrugs. “She was very nice about it, offered to keep paying for my apartment, but I was... I wanted her to have a clean break.”

“I see,” Thomas says softly.

Alex clears his throat. “I didn't cheat on her. I'm sure that's what you actually want to know. I've made some stupid decisions, slept with people I shouldn't have, but I didn't do _that_.”

It's so quiet in the room that you could hear a pin drop, and it stays that way for a few seconds longer than Alex thinks he can stand, but he's so wound up about the whole situation, so frustrated that his confession got derailed to be accused of cheating, that he almost would rather the silence to what he thinks is going to come next.

He's proven wrong when Thomas says quietly, “I'm sorry. You're... you're right. I shouldn't have said that. I'd like to think I know you better than that. It was... a cruel thing to say.”

Alex sighs, relaxing back into the couch, his shoulder brushing Thomas' as he does. The heat radiating from Thomas' body grounds him a little. “No, don't apologize. I know what everyone says. It was a fair question.”

Alex is shocked when a second later Thomas throws an arm over his shoulders, pulling Alex closer to his body heat, but he leans into it regardless. “I'm still sorry,” he whispers softly. “Drink the wine. Everyone needs to try a really nice wine sometime.”

Alex glances over at Thomas, and their faces are very close together so he looks back forward sipping the wine again, really tasting it for the first time. “Well no one would accuse you of having bad taste,” Alex says softly, smiling.

Thomas laughs, and the vibration of it runs through Alex making him feel warm and a little like mush. “I'll go grab my laptop and we can go over our essays for Lee's class. Finish that glass before I get back,” he instructs, and when he stands, Alex sees that he has the warmest smile on his face.

Thomas leaves the room and Alex sips the wine, thinking that he might be well and truly screwed.


	6. Chapter 6

“And that's not... It's not just that,” Alex says before taking a fortifying gulp of wine, and Thomas suddenly certain that whatever comes out of Alex's mouth next is, he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to be thanked for befriending him, doesn't want to be told about how Gil made him buy the wine. Certainly isn't sure he could say no if Alex is about to... to make some sort of confession, but he promised James, _promised_ that he wouldn't get caught up in him, wouldn't start a relationship with a known cheater, and so he blurts the first thing that comes to mind to derail the conversation.

“Can I ask you what happened with you and Eliza?” he asks, and it's immediately clear that he's completely derailed Alex, and that seems like a good thing until Alex's expression goes from honest and happy, if a little nervous to completely closed off. It's like he's shelved all of his emotions, gone blank again. Like he was two weeks ago.

Thomas watches Alex pick viciously at his knuckles with so much force that he's shocked they don't start bleeding and regrets opening his mouth. “Uh, you mean why we broke up?” Thomas sips his wine, trying to appear unaffected “Well, I, uh, I'm not sure. She got a job in New York and she said she... just didn't love me anymore. She was very nice about it, offered to keep paying for my apartment, but I was... I wanted her to have a clean break.”

“I see,” Thomas murmurs, feeling like the worlds worst person. He can tell there's something that Alex isn't quite saying, that maybe he isn't ready to admit to himself.

Alex makes a sound that Thomas is sure is supposed to be clearing his throat, but sounds somewhere closer to a sob, then adds, “I didn't cheat on her. I'm sure that's what you actually want to know. I've made some stupid decisions, slept with people I shouldn't have, but I didn't do that.”

Because of course Alex sees right through him, just like he always sees right through everything, and Thomas spares a moment to think that Alex is probably far too smart for his own good before apologizing and deftly changing the subject.

By the time he comes back to the living room with his laptop, Alex has pulled up his essay and downed his glass of wine.

They turn in at eleven, Thomas bidding Alex a friendly goodnight with a warm smile before closing his bedroom door behind him. As soon as he's out of Alex's sight, he starts scrambling for his phone and jumps onto the bed with it. But as soon as he has it out, he stops. He could talk to James, but he suddenly realizes that James will not believe anything Thomas has to say on the matter of Alex cheating on Eliza, as he's too close with the Schuyler sisters to care what Alex has to say for himself, anyways.

Thomas bites his lip and opens up his texts with Gil.

_I hate being in love,_ he sends before he can think better of it.

Then he groans and cocoons himself in his blankets, as if that will help in any way. After laying that way for a few minutes he sighs and then untangles himself to change into his pajamas and brush his teeth.

By the time he crawls back into bed, he has three new texts from Gil:

_Oh, la vache! Why can you American's not figure out time zones?_

_What did you do?_

_You did not wake me up at 5 to ignore me._

Thomas sighs. _I don't know. I... he was going to say something, I'm not sure what, and then I panicked and said something... mean,_ Thomas responds. He frowns at the “...” at the bottom of the screen until Gil's response comes through.

_Did you complain about the wine? Is he mad at you? If he's upset, you should make him croissants._

Thomas rolls his eyes. _He's not mad at me. But I will take that under advisement._

_If you hurt him, mon ami, they will never find your body._

It's surprisingly dark for Gil. Thomas isn't sure how the Frenchmen thinks he's going to hurt Alex, but he knows to take the threat seriously. _Duly noted._

_Just tell him how you feel, mon chou,_ Gil tells him. Then he adds, _And make him crepes for breakfast. He loves sweet things._

Thomas snorts. _Je vais. Bonne nuit._

_Plus comme bonjour._

Thomas sighs, plugging in his phone on the nightstand and then nestling more tightly into the blankets. He falls asleep considering what Alex would prefer on crepes.

–

Thomas wakes up at 5am to a text from Gil that reads, _How do you like it?_ He blinks at it before chuckling and crawling out of bed, knowing there's no way he's going to fall back asleep.

_Point taken,_ he shoots back before stretching and taking his time getting ready for the day.

He's showered and dressed by the time he makes it to the kitchen to start on the dough for some croissants.

He's chilled the dough, rolled it out, and popped it in for the second round of chilling when he hears Alex starting to stir, a small groan betraying how the other man feels about being awake. Thomas grins to himself and then starts on the crepes whisking the ingredients together quickly before spreading out the mixture for the first crepe.

He's finished cooking all the crepes and is filling them when Alex emerges from the bedroom and joins Thomas in the kitchen. “Go, sit at the table, I'll be right over,” Thomas instructs.

Alex complies without comment, probably too tired to argue. It only takes Thomas a few more minutes to finish the crepes, but then he brings Alex's over, placing them in front of him with a flourish. “Voila.”

Alex blinks at the food, and after a second of confusion, Thomas rolls his eyes. “Right, of course. You need coffee to be functional. Give me a second.”

He starts a pot of coffee in his French press, and then sets his espresso machine to make two shots straight into a mug for Alex. He returns to the table with two cups of coffee and his own plate of crepes a few minutes later, handing Alex's coffee directly to him. He notices that Alex's crepes are completely finished when he sits back down, and smiles before starting in on his own breakfast.

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes while Thomas eats and Alex sips his coffee.

“Those were very good,” Alex tells him, his voice cracking slightly.

“Are you coming down with something?” Thomas asks immediately.

Alex shrugs. “I don't know. My throat's been a little sore, but I thought it was just the weather.”

“Well, you sound like you've got a cold. But it probably _is_ from living in the fucking freezing cold weather for weeks.” Thomas finishes his crepes and then takes his plate and Alex's to the kitchen. He returns a moment later with a glass of orange juice and another plate of crepes for Alex.

Alex sips the orange juice tentatively, still quiet and, now that Thomas is looking for it, a little miserable.

“Eat,” Thomas tells him, standing as he finishes his own cup of coffee. “And finish that juice.”

Alex nods and picks up his fork as Thomas heads back to the kitchen. He pulls out the dough and starts working it again, rolling it out and folding it over again.

Alex appears next to him as he's finishing, washing his dishes. “What are you making?” he asks hoarsely.

“Croissant,” Thomas responds, putting his best French accent forward.

Alex freezes, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Gil told you to make them.”

“Gil told me you liked them,” Thomas corrects. “Now either dry your dishes or get out of the kitchen.

Alex carefully dries his dishes in silence as Thomas puts the dough back in the fridge. Thomas grabs a travel mug out of the cabinet above Alex's head while the other man finishes up, setting it up for a couple more shots of espresso. Alex leans back into him, for just a moment, probably not aware that he's done it. Just a cold body seeking out heat, Thomas tells himself firmly, willing the flush out of his cheeks.

Alex turns around, leaning his back against the counter as Thomas waits for the espresso machine to finish. Alex watches him closely as he fiddles with the machine. “Hand me the French press,” Thomas instructs as the machine finishes up. Alex does so quietly, and Thomas adds three spoonfuls of sugar to the espresso before pouring in the coffee to mix it up. He pops the lid on and hands it to Alex with a smile.

“Thanks,” Alex says, his voice rumbling in his throat. He coughs to clear his throat. “You didn't have to do this for me.”

“I like you, so...” Thomas shrugs. Inexplicably, Alex's face colors slightly at that. “Besides, you're sick, so that means you're going to have to deal with my mother-henning until you get better.”

“You're going to annoy the cold out of me?” Alex asks skeptically.

“Damn straight,” Thomas agrees. “Now hurry up or we're going to be late.”

–

The week leading up to Thanksgiving goes by in a blur of exams and papers. Alex eats the finished croissants at an alarming rate, and Thomas only manages to salvage one each for himself and James. Thomas _does_ manage to annoy the cold out of Alex in record time, which leads to Alex frowning at him a lot for a few days.

Wednesday night, while Alex is off at his internship at the ACLU, Thomas starts prepping food for Thanksgiving dinner, pre-washing potatoes, chopping vegetables, and dicing stale bread. He hardly glances up when Alex opens the door, mumbling to himself about something.

“Before you ask, yes we really are out of croissants, and no I am not making any more,” Thomas tells him firmly.

Alex hums an annoyed acknowledgment as he takes off his shoes.

“Why is my business card on your cork board?” Alex asks from right over Thomas' shoulder, causing him to jump.

Thomas shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage while chopping celery. “I put it there when you first gave it to me.”

“Can I help?” Alex asks, because of course the answer didn't matter to him.

“Wash up first,” Thomas tells him firmly. He hears the sink turn on while Alex washes his hands. Once Alex is done washing his hands, Thomas pushes a loaf of stale bread at him. “Cube this.”

There's a moment of silence before Alex asks, “So, what is cubing?”

Thomas rolls his eyes and turns towards Alex. The other man is still wearing the same distractingly tight jeans he had been all day, and Thomas sends a silent prayer for the lord to give him strength. “What does it sound like, Alexander? Cut it into cubes.”

“How big?” Alex says, looking down at the bread with furrowed brows, as if it was a particularly difficult puzzle.

“A little less than an inch?” Thomas suggests.

Alex nods, picking up the knife. But before cutting anything purses his lips and puts it back down. “And how much is an inch?”

Thomas groans theatrically and snatches the bread back from Alex. “You are absolutely _useless,_ ” he complains. He fishes a peeler out of a drawer dangerously close to Alex's hip bones. “Go peel the potatoes,” he demands, shoving the peeler at Alex.

Alex frowns at him, but takes the peeler over to the potatoes and starts diligently peeling them, depositing the peels in the trash can quietly.

The companionable banter of a moment ago is replaced by a slight tension as Thomas goes back to chopping the celery. As he switches to cubing the bread, he asks, “Everything okay, Alex?”

“Sure,” Alex tells him, but it's clear that he's lying.

Thomas sighs, putting down the bread and knife, crossing over to Alex and pulling the peeler and his current potato out of his hands, causing him to look up. “You can tell me if something's wrong,” Thomas says patiently. “What did I do?”

Alex frowns at him. “You didn't do anything.” That, at least sounds like the truth. Or at least like Alex thinks it's true.

“Hm,” Thomas says softly, thinking over the last few things he'd said. “I will have to teach you how to cook sometime, but right now, it's a little too stressful and time sensitive, so I'm going to have to settle for having you peel the potatoes. And then you can order us some dinner.”

Alex perks up slightly, a small smile creeping back onto his face as Thomas hands back the potato and peeler before going back to cubing the bread. After a few moments, Alex starts humming under his breath as he works, and the sound is unreasonably soothing, and Thomas automatically starts humming along, recognizing it as a song Gil used to sing to him.

Thomas has moved on to putting ingredients half-way together so that they'll be ready to go first thing the next morning when Alex finishes up peeling, having deposited all the potatoes into a large pot. He washes his hands again before pulling out his phone.

By the time Thomas has finished up the prep, including kneading the croissant dough he is firmly _not_ telling Alex about until tomorrow, Alex is sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under him as he types on his computer. Thomas pours them each a glass of wine, handing Alex his as he sits down next to him.

“A ta sante,” Thomas murmurs.

“Sante,” Alex responds back distractedly. They both take a small sip of wine.

“So what are we having for dinner?” Thomas asks as he relaxes back into the couch.

“I ordered Thai,” Alex tells him. “Should be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay,” Thomas more hums than says.

The next thing he knows, there's a knock on the door, startling him awake.

“I've got it,” Alex tells him before padding over to the door.

Thomas blinks himself back awake while Alex talks in a low voice to the delivery guy, looking around for his wine glass. It's sitting, still mostly full, on the coffee table in front of him, presumably rescued by Alex as he started falling asleep. He takes a sip as he stands and walks over to the table where Alex is pulling out their food.

Thomas stands there, still blinking and feeling more asleep than awake until Alex pushes him down into a chair. Alex breaks a pair of chopsticks and hands them over. “Eat,” he instructs before cracking apart his own chopsticks.

They eat in silence, and Thomas is surprised by how good the food is, but thinks he might just be exhausted.

Alex collects all the trash when they're finished and throws it away. By the time he returns, Thomas has just finished his wine, so Alex collects that and heads for the kitchen to wash both glasses out.

Thomas is starting to a fall asleep a few minutes later when Alex nudges him to get out of his chair. “Come on, stand up, go to bed, you can't sleep here, and I know you're going to get up stupidly early to cook,” Alex tells him.

Thomas thinks he should complain, should grumble that how _dare_ Alex push him around in his own home, but he's tired, the stress of all the exams he's taken catching up to him, so he complies without a word as Alex herds him into his bedroom.

“Goodnight,” Alex says quietly, kissing Thomas on the cheek before disappearing.

Thomas changes into his pajamas and is asleep by the time his head hits the pillows.


	7. Chapter 7

Within minutes, Alex can hear the soft snoring that indicates that Thomas is sound asleep. He sighs and turns to the kitchen, which still needs cleaned up if Thomas is really going to cook first thing, which Alex knows he is. Rolling up his sleeves, Alex turns his attention to the mess that is the kitchen, cleaning as thoroughly and as quietly as he can. He may not be of any use when it comes to cooking, but giving the kitchen a deep, thorough clean is something that he learned to do in many different foster homes. Had to earn his keep somehow.

It takes almost two hours to get the kitchen gleamingly spotless. He takes one last look over the room to make sure that it is totally sanitized before heading out to pick up the rest of living area. Throughout he can hear Thomas snoring softly, not stirring at all despite the noise that Alex is making.

After another hour of cleaning, the living room is almost as spotless as the kitchen, the only missing elements the blankets Thomas keeps on the couch, which are tumbling in the drier. Alex takes care to pick up every single item that serves as evidence that he lives there before retreating to the guest room.

Thomas hasn't said anything, but Alex knows that he hasn't told James he's staying there. He isn't sure why—doesn't ever really understand anything that Thomas and James do—but he _is_ sure that despite his invite to Thanksgiving dinner, James isn't to know that he lives there. So, Alex takes the time to painstakingly remove his presence from both the guest bedroom and bathroom.

Resolved to wash the sheets and towels as soon as he hears Thomas stirring in the morning, Alex wiggles his way into the bed and falls asleep.

–

He wakes up at an ungodly early hour, stirring at the first sounds of Thomas in the kitchen. He feels exhausted, but he sits up and stretches anyways, before stripping the bed and putting all the blankets in the washer. He sets the drier to fluff for a few minutes and then heads out into the living area in search of coffee.

He immediately realizes that this was a tactical error as the sight of Thomas cooking, shirtless, his muscles jumping under his skin whenever he reaches for something, makes Alex's mouth water. He shakes himself before Thomas can turn around and catch him staring and pulls down a coffee mug from the cabinet, brandishing it at Thomas in a silent plea for coffee.

Thomas rolls his eyes at him and dumps coffee from his French press into the offered mug. “I didn't expect you up this early,” Thomas observes before turning back to his work mashing potatoes. “Thank you for cleaning up last night.”

“Hmm,” Alex responds, before downing half the mug in one go. He almost immediately starts feeling more verbal. “Well, I figured you would need a clean space first thing. And as far as James is concerned, I don't live here, I thought you wanted to keep it that way.” Thomas stills. It takes Alex a second to notice, but as soon as he does, he frowns. “What?”

“I,” Thomas starts, then clears his throat. “I didn't say James didn't know.”

Alex shrugs. “He obviously doesn't know. And for some reason, you don't want him to.” Thomas makes a face and starts to speak, so Alex rushes to add, “Not that I'm asking why. I don't care why. Whatever. But I figured I'd make things a little easier for you.” Thomas' face morphs into something that Alex can't read, so he pours himself of the rest of the coffee from the French press and then cleans the device out. When he's done, he moves it to the drying rack. “I'll be out of here by ten. James said he was coming at ten thirty. When do you want me to come back?”

“You don't have to leave,” Thomas chokes out.

“Now you're just being stupid,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. “I'm going to go finish the laundry.”

By nine, the guest bed has clean sheets, and the living room and guest rooms are spotless. Alex sighs to himself and then cleans up the scant dishes that are evidence of his coffee and breakfast, taking care to dry them before putting them away. Thomas is looking speculatively at the turkey as he stretches to put them away, and for just a second, Alex catches Thomas staring at him, out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns back, Thomas is looking back at the turkey.

“Well, I'm going to Starbucks,” Alex tells him. “Text me when you want me to show up.” He grabs his backpack, which holds all the scant possessions he's moved in during the week he's been.

“You don't have to leave,” Thomas repeats as Alex carefully makes sure the spare key is in it's designated spot on the key rack.

Alex looks up at him, eyes narrowing appraisingly. Thomas' face betrays his words—he feels bad for chasing Alex out (as if Alex had any right to be here, _seriously_ ), but he knows he can't afford _not_ to do it. Alex is desperately curious as to why James can't know, but he suspects that James has forbidden Thomas from dating him.

He realized this a few nights ago, after the second time Thomas derailed a conversation that was plowing right towards Alex asking him out. Alex wasn't sure why Thomas was doing as James said, but he was resolved to respect Thomas' choices, regardless of how absurd he found them. He had suspected that they were dating, but when he asked Gil if they were, the man had scoffed.

“Yes, I do,” Alex told him firmly. He pressed a quick kiss to Thomas' cheek, knowing that each time he did that he was pushing his luck a little more, but willing to take the risk at least a few more times. “I'm sure James will be a much better helper with your cooking. I'll be back in a few hours, mon chou.” Alex smiled at Thomas, feeling uncharacteristically gooey inside at the blindsided look on Thomas' face. “I'll be at Starbucks.”

He was out the door before Thomas could tell him he didn't have to leave again, not trusting himself to brush him off again.

The walk to Starbucks is less cold than he'd expected, and Alex takes that time to enjoy the unusually warm weather for late November. Alex orders himself the a mocha and a scone and then takes a seat in the back corner, pulling his laptop and typing away. It's stupid, what he's writing, but it's the only thing keeping him from opening his mouth and saying something that he'll regret.

For days now, he's been writing love letters to Thomas. Every time he had a spare moment, he'd been doing it. And once he'd started it was like bursting open a floodgate, unable to stop himself. It's what he'd done to woo Eliza, it was how he dealt with his emotions. Of course, he knew that unlike with Eliza, he was probably never going to be able to give them to their intended recipient, but he figured as long as Thomas (and, god forbid, _James_ ) never found out about it, it would be fine.

He wrote for two hours, waiting to hear from Thomas. _Two hours._ Two hours of “my dearest Thomas” and “I would compare thee to not but the sweetest cake, the loveliest flower, the warmest day”. Years ago, he may have been embarrassed by his flowery language, but it had worked to wow Eliza, Gil, and the women and men before and between them, and he had long since accepted it.

And then he gets a call from James, saying that Thomas would like him to arrive “at his earliest convenience” which is what James says when he thinks you're already late, so Alex packs his stuff up and starts making his way to Thomas' apartment, taking his time to make it seem like he hadn't come from suspiciously nearby.

As soon as James opens the door, Alex drops his bag in an out-of-the-way corner and rolls up his sleeves to help however he's told to.

Within an hour, the food is spread on the island and the three of them are quietly and politely arguing about who should get their food first. Thomas eventually bows against the will of the other two, and James jumps in to go second, leaving Alex last. He won't complain, suspects that James is working double time to keep Alex and Thomas apart, and tactfully stays mostly quiet during the meal, only speaking to compliment Thomas' cooking and appreciate how he flushes more with each complement.

Once they are all thoroughly stuffed, James enlists Alex to help him deal with leftovers while Thomas searches for the football game that James insists on. Thomas has a put-upon and somewhat disgusted look on his face when James and Alex rejoin him, James immediately pouncing on the seat next to him on the couch and taking up the rest of it with his legs, seemingly out of malice. Alex rolls his eyes at this and settles on the floor, watching the game disinterestedly.

He's fallen asleep due to all the food and jerks awake when James jumps up from the couch screaming at the television screen. He glances at it to see that it's in the fourth... section? He thinks that means it's almost over. He glances over at Thomas, who was clearly also shocked awake. He meets Alex's eyes and shakes his head, smiling. It must be something James always does.

Thomas sighs, standing up. “I'll get the pie.”

Alex perks up at the mention of pie, but that gets him a dirty look from James, so he settles back on the floor, even though now that he's awake he can tell that most of his lower body has gone numb. He shifts to get blood flow back, hissing in pain as the pins and needles start up.

Then, he thinks, the game ends. Or at least James' interest in it does, and he turns off the television, and they join Thomas at the table.

It is, by far, the best pie Alex has had in his life. Possibly the best food he's ever put in his mouth. He chokes on an obscene moan upon the first bite which has Thomas coloring and James giving him a sharp look. With effort, he keeps quiet through the rest of the pie.

Within an hour of finishing the pie, James excuses himself, giving Alex a dirty look when he doesn't follow suit immediately. Alex subsides and rolls his eyes at Thomas before following James out and down the stairs.

As soon as they're a block away, where Alex is turning to go on the Red Line (to ride a few stops down and back) and James should be continuing along the street, James whips around, grabs Alex by the front of the shirt and shoves him into a building. “Thomas has been through enough without you worming your way into his life just to break his heart,” James snarls at him.

Alex puts his hands up placatingly. “I read you loud and clear. No romantic gestures or anything.”

“No,” James hisses. “No, you stay away from him, okay? He doesn't need someone like you screwing things up for him.”

Alex goes from submissive and acquiescing to angry and ready for a fight in a second. “Look, I get that you think I'm some shitty person unworthy of _your_ Thomas, but I'm not about to stop being his friend because you're _jealous_ ,” he snarls.

“This isn't about you or me,” James responds, not backing down for a second. “This is about him. You aren't good for him. Frankly, you aren't good for anyone. You're a taker. You take whatever your given until whoever his giving ends up a shriveled husk or wises up.”

Alex can feel the blood draining from his face, but there's something in James' words that strikes a cord in him, and he goes limp. He can feel his face falling, feel the numbness rushing back in, and he wants to care, feels like he needs to, for Gil if for no other reason, but he can't quite bring himself to. “Understood,” he says, more to James' shoes than the man himself.

James releases him with a shove, and steps back. “Goodnight, Hamilton.”

Alex doesn't respond. He stays there, the wall the only thing holding him up until he starts to feel cold. The sun is setting, and decides that instead of circling back he's just going to make his way to his storage unit.

He makes it there, shoes off and wrapped in all his blankets, having ignored several texts from Thomas, but then Thomas calls him and he can't bring himself not to answer.

“Where are you?” Thomas demands, sounding breathless and panicked.

Alex doesn't know what to say to that, but he has to say something, so he swallows past the lump in his throat and mutters, “I'm fine.” It's not the answer to the question Thomas asked, but it's _something._

Thomas somehow takes those words and extrapolates the entire situation. Or maybe James had said something to him, it's hard to say. “Come home _right now_. I don't care what James said to you, okay, it's not worth it.”

“But he was _right,_ ” Alex says, his voice cracking on the last word, and he hates himself for it, sits up and starts rustling through a box, searching.

“No,” Thomas says, voice growing firmer by the word. “Alex, no. He is _not._ Just come _home_.”

Alex blinks, stares at the knife in his hand, and tries to _think_ past the numbness in his chest and the whirring in his ears.

“ _Please,_ ” Thomas pleads, his voice breaking a little. “Just... come here. For now. We can talk. Figure something out. Just _don't._ ”

And somehow, that snaps Alex out of it. He drops the knife back into the box and seals the box. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, I'm on my way.”  
“Oh, thank god,” Thomas breathes. “The trains close in an hour.”

“Okay. I'll be there in thirty minutes.” Then Alex hangs up before he can say anything stupid, like _I love you_.

And after he locks up the storage unit, he calls Gil.

“Alexander?” Gil answers, sounding concerned, so Thomas must have said something to him.

“What,” Alex asks, with a desperate sort of honesty, “am I going to do?”

“Oh, mon lion,” Gil murmurs.

–

Thomas flings the door open before Alex can even knock and sweeps him into a bone-crushing hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. Alex is totally shocked by the reaction, but immediately melts into it, pressing his face into Thomas' neck.

The hug is over quickly though, and Thomas ushers him into the kitchen, closing and locking the door and taking Alex's coat and bag at the same time, somehow. Once they're standing under the bright lights of the kitchen, Thomas grabs his hands and jerks his sleeves up with more force than Alex would have expected of him.

“I'm fine,” Alex tells him, which just seems to redouble Thomas' examination, as he pushes Alex's chin up, looking him over.

He relents a few minutes later, but stays determinedly in Alex's personal space.

“I'm fine,” Alex tells him, unable to think of anything better to say. And then Thomas kisses him.

It doesn't take more than a millisecond for Alex to be kissing him back, his hands coming up to rest on the back of Thomas' neck. Thomas' hands grab his hips and he feels himself being pressed back into the counter behind him uncomfortably, but he can't bring himself to care.

Thomas pulls back after a second, forehead resting against Alex's, his eyes closed. “You didn't answer and I thought...”  
Alex wants to reassure him, wants to tell him that he's overreacting, wants to tell him that everything is fine, but it's _not_ and he just can't bring himself to lie about it. “I'm sorry,” he says instead. He can't help but think that this is just what James was worried about, that this is why he is terrible for Thomas, but he is also stupidly in love with this man and feeling insanely vulnerable and doesn't, in that moment, have quite enough energy to care.

Thomas pulls Alex into another hug, burying his face into Alex's neck. Alex can feel him crying, can feel the tears seeping into his shirt, but he doesn't know what to do about it, so he just squeezes back, rubbing one thumb under Thomas' ear soothingly.

And after a few minutes, Thomas pulls back, looking stricken. “I'm—I'm sorry. I sh—shouldn't have. I'm taking advantage,” he forces out, out of breath and still crying a little. He takes several more steps back out of Alex's personal space.

“No,” Alex disagrees. “You're not taking advantage. I—”

But Thomas doesn't let him finish, just pushes Alex towards the guest bathroom. “Take a shower, go to bed. I'm sorry.”

And Alex would try to fight him, but he's exhausted, his chest hurts from the emotional hoops he's been jumping through. Not to mention the look on Thomas' face when he meets his eyes.

When he's out of the shower, Thomas hands him his bag, looking at his own feet instead of at Alex, who is only wearing a towel. “I'm _sorry._ I should never have taken advantage of you like that.”

“Thomas, I—” Alex starts, but Thomas' eyes meet his with steely determination, and he falls silent.

“Go to bed,” Thomas tells him firmly. “We can talk in the morning, if you still want to. I know this was... a hard evening. I'm sorry. I should have just told James. We could have avoided this whole mess.”

Alex nods mutely. “Goodnight, Thomas,” he says quietly.

“Goodnight, Alex.” And then Thomas is gone, his bedroom door closing behind him.

Alex takes the bag with him into the guest room, pulling on his pajamas and tossing his laptop on the bed.

He can tell that Thomas went through the bag. Expected him to, really. He's taken the Excedrin out of his bag. Alex spares a thought to wonder if Thomas had moved everything he considered a threat from the apartment into his room. Alex sighs, turns off the light, and climbs into bed.

He reads through the letters he's written maybe eight times, making edits until he's sure they're perfect, and then he attaches them all to an email and sends them to Thomas.

He turns his laptop off, gently places it on the ground, his heart pounding. But he can hear Thomas snoring softly and knows there's no way the other man will get his message until the morning, so he settles back down into the bed as best he can and closes his eyes.

The day must have really taken it out of him. Because he falls asleep almost immediately.

–

Alex wakes up to the muffled sound of voices arguing. He slumps back into the bed, relaxing into the warmth of the mid-morning sun. He's convinced that it's just Thomas and James fighting until he hears a distinctly feminine voice. It's one that he recognizes immediately, and it has him climbing out of bed and pulling on a hoodie without a moment of hesitation.

“...cheat on me,” Eliza is saying when he steps out. “Who on Earth told you that?”  
“Everyone knows it,” James says, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain.

“Well that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,” Angelica snaps. “He didn't have time for Eliza, he certainly didn't have time for _another_ woman.”

“And it's not like _I_ was...” Eliza's voice trails off. “I mean, I didn't, but I.” Eliza looks at Hercules, her back still to Alex.

It's surprising that no one has noticed him, really. Alex quietly walks into the kitchen and starts making himself a pot of coffee in Thomas' French press while they continue arguing.

“So _that's_ why you abandoned him,” Thomas hisses at Hercules. “Do you have any idea...? Well, of course you don't. If you had, then he wouldn't have been relying on Gil— _who is still in France_ , by the way—as his only support system, Jesus.”

“Hey!” Hercules snaps, never one to take something laying down. “He didn't say anything to me! If he asked for help I would have been here in a heartbeat.”

“He didn't say anything to Gil, either, but at least Gil fucking _talked_ to him. Weren't you supposed to be his friend.”

“Oh yeah? What do you know about it? It's not like fucking Madison here lets you have any friends. He never like Alex. I'm sure he's been trying to chase him off every time you even said a word to him.”

Alex carefully pours hot water over the coffee in the French press. He learned a long time ago to be quiet and let other people argue about him, as long as they weren't arguing _against_ him.

“That was _never_ why I didn't want Alex around—” James starts.

“Oh so he's _Alex_ to you now?”

“Well, that's what he asked me to call him, so yes.”

“Oh, don't you _dare_ ,” Hercules growls. “He would have latched onto you if you even gave him a passing glance. I've been there, I know what he gets like.”

Alex can feel the blood draining at his face at that, but he stalwartly continues pressing the grounds down on the press before pouring himself a cup.

“Oh, so is that why he liked _you_?” Thomas hisses. “Because neither of us would have stooped so low as to _steal a friend's girl_.” Which is, unfortunately, a true accusation.

“He didn't _steal_ me,” Eliza snaps. “I am my own person. I left because I didn't love him anymore. I fell in love with Herc on my own. Don't put this on him.” Alex finishes his first cup, pulls a second cup out of the cabinet and carefully fills it before emptying the rest of the coffee into his own cup.

“So, what, it's Alex's fault you stopped loving him?” Thomas presses. “Is that what you're saying?”

“It's no one's fault,” Eliza starts.

Alex pushes between Angelic and Eliza and presses the spare cup into Thomas' hands. Everyone falls into shocked silence, staring at him as he sips his coffee.

“It is no one's fault,” Alex agrees, looking at his coffee instead of at anyone else. “And for the record, not telling me does not mean that I didn't know that you got together with Herc. I'm not stupid, I knew why you went to New York, and I was never mad about it.” Alex sighs, taking another sip of his coffee. “None of this was worth arguing about. And James, thank you so much for your faith in me.”

“Hey, how could I have—” James starts.

“Well, you could have fucking asked me, for one.” Alex takes another sip of his coffee. “And for the record, I don't just _latch_ onto anyone who shows me kindness, what the fuck kind of thing is that to say about anyone, let alone a friend, Herc.”

“You don't know—” Herc starts.

Alex brings his eyes up, meeting Hercules' with heat. “I _do_ know. And for the record, if anyone doesn't know what's going on with me it's _you_ , because you completely cut yourself out of my life because you felt _guilty_ , which you didn't need to, but that's not how you should have handled it even if you _did_.” Alex takes a deep breath, turning to Thomas. “Do we have any croissants left over?”

“I—uh—yes,” Thomas stutters. “In the microwave.”

“Perfect.” Alex turns and heads back to the kitchen, putting two croissants on a plate before crossing to sit at the table, his back to the group.

After an almost concerningly long silence, Thomas chokes out, “You, uh, you came here for pie, right?”

“Yes,” Angelica agrees, much too quickly. “But we can, uh, come back later—”

“Or never,” Herc mutters darkly.

“No, you should have some pie,” Thomas says with false brightness. Alex smiles, realizing that Thomas is trying to make them uncomfortable. “I've really outdone myself this year.”

“It's, uh, not really necessary,” Eliza murmurs, and Alex suspects that Thomas has turned his best manic smile on her.

“Well, at least take some with you,” Thomas says. “Actually, I have a whole extra pie. You can just take what remains of this one. Unless you think you're going to want more than that...”  
“We'll take the untouched pie and get out of your hair,” James tells him, speaking quickly.  
“If you're sure. You are, of course, welcome to stay.”

“We're definitely sure,” James responds quickly, voice sounding strangled.

The four of them are out the door with the pie in less than 30 seconds, the door slamming shut behind them. Alex can hear Thomas lock the door behind them, then he crosses over to the table and drops into the seat opposite Alex with a dramatic sigh. Alex looks up and Thomas grins at him beatifically.

Alex swallows and looks back down at his croissants. He clears his throat. “Did you—uh, I mean—I sent you an email last night after you went to sleep. Did you see—or, um, read it?” His voice goes high and squeaky on the end with nerves.

“Mmm, I did,” Thomas hums.

Alex isn't sure what to make of that tone so he looks up. Thomas is smiling at him, a little bit predatory, his gaze falling to Alex's lips as he darts a tongue out to lick crumbs off them. “Oh?” he asks, not as confident as he thinks he should be.

“You are a very eloquent writer, I can see why Washington likes you so much.” Thomas leans forward, reaching a hand out to rest on Alex's arm.

“Oh, uh, er, I mean. Thanks,” Alex says, unable to keep his voice from cracking.

Thomas pulls his hand back, leaning back in his seat, his expression going unreadable. “I understand, if you don't want—if you're not _ready_ to—if you aren't sure you—”

“Shut up,” Alex snaps. “Of course I'm fucking sure. If you don't believe me, ask Gil. You kept blowing me off when I tried to tell you so I gave up and just badgered him constantly.”

The smile creeps back onto Thomas' face. “Son of a bitch, that man knows more about both of us than anyone should.”

“Oh, definitely,” Alex agrees. “He says things that, uh...” He can feel color rising in his cheeks, but when he looks over Thomas is flushed to.

“Yeah. Best not to think about the things that Gil knows. It's the stuff of nightmares.”

Alex grins at Thomas, running a hand through his hair. He nudges Thomas' knee with his own. “Wanna watch a movie? It's officially after Thanksgiving, so we can watch Love Actually.”

Thomas' whole face lights up. “That sounds like a brilliant plan. Finish your breakfast, I'll put it on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be up on Friday. Cheers!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little early in the day for this last chapter, but wanna make sure I get it up before I get too busy and forget. Enjoy and cheers!

Love Actually turns into cuddling turns into Alex straddling Thomas' lap as they make out on the couch. The movie is still playing in the background, Thomas notices distantly as Alex pulls away to let him catch his breath and starts licking and biting at his neck. Thomas' hands slip up the back of Alex's shirt and he hums happily under his breath while gently stroking his fingers over the smooth skin of Alex's back. The smaller man is surprisingly muscular. Wiry, Thomas thinks his mom would say.

Thomas is drawn back to what Alex is doing when he starts sucking hard on Thomas' collar bone. Thomas whines quietly at the sensation, and as soon as Alex pulls back, soothing his tongue over the spot, Thomas pushes his face upward so that they're kissing again. Thomas' hands stoke up and done Alex's back of they're own accord as their tongues tangle.

Alex starts to pull back again, and Thomas pulls him even closer without thinking. Thomas feels Alex's erection brush against his abdomen and would think nothing of it, but then Alex freezes, pulling back, and this time Thomas lets him go.

“Is everything okay?” Thomas asks at the same time as Alex says, “I'm sorry.”

“What on Earth are you sorry about?” Thomas raises an eyebrow at him.

Alex flushes and looks out the window. “You know,” he responds cryptically, his voice going high-pitched and strained.

Thomas looks at Alex, eyes taking in how disheveled he is, how kiss-swollen his lips are, and the obvious bulge in the front of his pants and rolls his eyes. “Oh, for the love of—” Thomas grabs Alex by the butt and repositions them so that they're lying down on the couch, Thomas on top of him, ignoring Alex's yelp of surprise. Thomas makes pointed eye contact and then slowly rolls his hips so that his own hard-on brushes Alex from mid-thigh to hip. “Okay?” he asks.

Alex groans, grabs fistful of Thomas' shirt and jerks his hips upwards, rubbing their dicks together through their clothes, causing Thomas to whine again, louder this time. “Yeah,” Alex agrees, then he crashes their mouths together again.

They're fully clothed, and Thomas is dangerously close to coming in his pants. He pulls away to catch his breath and maybe pull himself back from the brink, but Alex just takes that moment to get better leverage and grind up _harder,_ and Thomas has to use all his willpower, biting hard on his tongue, to keep himself together. “Wait, wait, stop or I'm going to—”

Alex must take that as some kind of challenge because he grins impishly and then arches up into him, moving his hips faster and it only takes a few jerks before Thomas looses it and moans deeply as he spills in his pants.

He comes back to himself a few moments later, and Alex is gently carding one hand through his hair and rubbing small circles under his opposite ear with the thumb of the other, murmuring soothingly under his breath. Thomas has collapsed totally on top of Alex, his face buried between Alex's face and the back of the couch. “You little shit,” he accuses quietly, which makes Alex laugh.

“You started it,” Alex tells him. “I was more than happy to just keep making out.”

Thomas groans, but stays where he is. He's frankly shocked that Alex seems totally comfortable using Thomas as a blanket. He presses a gentle kiss under Alex's ear, which causes Alex's hips to jerk against him as the other man moans.

Thomas files that reaction away for another time, feeling a little too sensitive for Alex to keep rubbing against him. He slowly shifts to that he's sitting up with his weight on Alex's feet. Alex frowns at him in disappointment. “Well, now I'm cold,” he complains. “Come back here.”

Thomas shakes his head and instead reaches down and pulls Alex's dick out of his pajama bottoms. Thomas licks his lips as Alex squawks indignantly. “Beautiful,” he whispers reverently before diving down and taking Alex's dick in his mouth down to his balls, swallowing as it slides down the back of his throat, his gag reflex easily pushed aside.

Alex makes a high pitched whining noise and starts tugging at Thomas' hair, trying to communicate something but having lost his words, and then Thomas hums and Alex is coming down the back of his throat. Thomas pulls up and smiles, licking his lips as he tucks Alex back into his pants. He starts to lie back over top of him, but winces at how uncomfortable his pants are, full of cold, drying cum. Instead he stands up from the couch.

“No, come back,” Alex demands sleepily. He waves a hand in Thomas general direction, without opening his eyes. He does catch Thomas' wrist though and squeezes, keeping him from pulling away.

“I'm just getting some fresh pants, I'll be right back, darlin',” Thomas promises, and Alex opens his eyes to slits to look at him appraisingly.

Whatever he was looking for, he clearly found it, because he releases Thomas and relaxes, eyes slipping closed. “You better be right back.”

Thomas isn't gone for more than a minute, but when he gets back, Alex is already asleep. He nudges Alex over until he has room to cuddle up next to him. He presses his nose into Alex's neck and falls asleep.

–

Thomas jerks awake when he hears the front door open, and he would fall off the couch if it weren't for Alex's quick reflexes pulling him back onto it with an arm and a leg. Alex must have already been awake and listened to the door being unlocked.

“It's James,” he murmurs to Thomas, clearly looking at the man over his head, but Thomas had already known that it had to be. No one else had a key to get in. He sighs sits up. Alex stays lying down behind him, his chest pressed into Thomas back.

“James,” Thomas greets coldly.

James has the decency to look chagrined. “Thomas,” he says sheepishly. “I actually... I actually came to apologize. I shouldn't have said anything. I should've just trusted you to sort it out on your own. I...” His voice grows quieter as he speaks until it finally tapers off and he looks away. He takes a deep breath before pressing forward. “Alex, I, uh, got you this as an apology...”

Alex sits up, snatching the book out of James hand and looks it over appraisingly. From his angle, Thomas can't see the book and James at the same time, and settles on watching James suspiciously. He hears the binding creak as Alex opens the book to the front page and then he gasps, which causes Thomas to whip around.

“Where did you get this?” Alex demands, but he doesn't sound angry. “How much did it _cost?_ ”

“Don't worry about that,” James tells him seriously. “I just... I hope you can forgive me. I should... I should never have said any it. Not what I said this morning, and certainly not what I said last night.”

Thomas shoots James a look at that. He still doesn't know what James said to Alex last night, but if it was worse than what he'd said this morning...

“How did you even know I wanted this?” Alex asks incredulously.

“Uh, Eliza said that you'd always wanted a copy,” James says, mostly to his feet. “It's, well, frankly it's from my own collection, but—”

“I can't accept this,” Alex cuts him off, and James flinches. “This is—there's no way—not if it's _your_ _copy—_ ” Alex seems to realize what James is thinking and stops himself. “Of course I forgive you,” he adds softly. “But this is just too much.”

Thomas finally gives in to his curiosity and turns to see Alex holding James' ancient, autographed copy of the Foundation Trilogy. Thomas barely kept himself from gasping and shock, turning back around to give James a sharp look. He knew for a fact that it was one of James most prized possessions. The man rereads the book at least twice a year. James met his gaze with one of desperate guilt.

“I—please, I insist,” James tells Alex firmly, eyes still locked with Thomas'. Then he turns to flash Alex a hesitant smile. “I can always get myself another one.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas can see Alex bite his lower lip, clearly torn, but then he shakes his head and stands up, holding the book out to James. “It's not—You didn't do anything bad enough to deserve parting with this. I can—I can tell you love it. It's well worn,” Alex tells James seriously. James looks at the book without taking it, an expression on his face that is somewhere between hurt and confused.

“No, please just—” James starts, but he's interrupted when Alex sighs, puts the book on the coffee table and crosses the room to envelop James in a warm hug.

Thomas thinks that maybe Alex saw something on James' face that he couldn't because his friend clings right back onto Alex and starts crying into his shoulder. Thomas is totally taken aback, doesn't know how to deal with this situation, as Alex starts shush James quietly, rubbing his back.

Thomas opens his mouth and closes it a couple times, completely at a loss for what to say, until his upbringing kicks in and he stands up. “I'll make tea,” he announces, because that's what his mom taught him to do in these situations.

James responds with a watery chuckle and a quiet, “Thank you.” Thomas feels his shoulders drop in relief at that, and he goes about making tea with a little bit more confidence.

He turns around while the water's boiling to see that both James and Alex have disappeared. He almost goes looking for them, but then he tells himself firmly that they have things they need to work out on their own, and that he can't get involved in everything that either of them do because that way lead only to madness.

They’re both sitting on the couch, talking in hushed voices when he finishes up the tea, bringing it over on a tray with cream and sugar for them to add to their own taste. Alex gives him a look at the fancy tea set, and Thomas flushes a little. Alex smiles at him at that.

Each of them doctor their own cups of tea in silence, Thomas and James both adding cream and honey, while Alex just adds a sugar cube. The comfortable silence stretches for a moment before Alex announces, “Oh, I just remembered something!” He sets down is cup and saucer before disappearing from the room.

He returns a moment later, brandishing a beat-up DVD case that is just barely recognizable as—

“Die Hard?” James says, clearly taken aback.

“It's a Christmas movie,” Alex tells him firmly. “And as yesterday was Thanksgiving, so now it’s Christmas and we're going to watch it.” He presents the movie to Thomas, who rolls his eyes, but smiles indulgently and stands to put it in. As soon as he sits back down on the couch, Alex slumps back into him, pressing himself into Thomas' chest while swinging his feet up to tuck his toes under James' thigh. James rolls his eyes and pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and covers them all in it, Alex humming approvingly and taking a sip of his tea as he does.

–

The movie is surprisingly enjoyable, wrapped up on the couch with his—Boyfriend? He and Alex hadn't exactly had a chance to talk about what they were to each other—and best friend. James is asleep by the end, and Thomas wonders how stressful his day was after he left, which makes him pale with a sudden thought.

Alex must feel him stiffen, because he looks up at Thomas, frowning. It only takes him a second to figure out what Thomas is thinking—that James had slipped like Alex had slipped, that Thomas had messed up by sending him away after all that—because he stretches up and presses a kiss to Thomas' jaw. “He's going to be okay,” Alex assures Thomas softly.

Thomas opens his mouth—so say _what_ , he isn't sure—but then Alex's stomach rumbles, and the smaller man flushes, turning his head away.

“I guess we didn't eat lunch,” Thomas mutters. “I'll make dinner.”

Alex hums in agreement, shifting so Thomas can get up.

Thomas is as quiet as he can be while he's cooking dinner and as soon as it's in the oven—ratatouille, something simple that he's good at but is very nutritious—he turns back to see the two of them snuggled up under the blanket and smiles to himself. He crosses to his fireplace—a gas one because that is so much more convenient—and starts it going to get the living room a little warmer. He brushes a kiss to Alex's forehead before sneaking a glance at James' arm, which is protruding from the blanket. There's a bandage very carefully placed on it, and Thomas heart falls. He pulls his hand back before he can jostle them at all, feeling a little sick.

Alex must have taken care of it, he realizes as he heads back to the kitchen. It's what he was doing while they were making tea. James clearly didn't want him to know, but Alex had realized and taken care of it. Alex was maybe too good for either of them, taking care of James when James had just put him in the exact same position, like none of that had happened.

Thomas frowned at the timer, not sure whether he wanted it to move faster or slower. He wasn't sure he was ready to play along, but he was also fairly hungry himself, despite the monstrous amount of food he had eaten the day before.

Ultimately, it's done at just the right time—before Thomas can get cranky but after he's firmly gotten himself under control. They'll make James spend the night. He can take the guest room. They'll make sure he's alright.

He rouses the other two once the food is on the table with a gruff, “Come on, food's ready, I'm hungry.” They both rouse at the promise of food quickly enough.

Alex is quick to make small talk over dinner, peppering them with questions about their Christmas traditions—when they get the tree (usually they would go the Saturday morning after Thanksgiving), how they decorated it—and also about what they planned to do with all the leftovers from Thanksgiving.

After dinner, Alex gets up and clears all the plates before Thomas or James have a chance to, shooting Thomas a look that is probably supposed to mean something, but Thomas can't tell _what_.

Thomas looks at James and swallows thickly. “Jemmy...” he starts softly.

“I'm so sorry,” James tells him, just as quietly.

Thomas sits up, leans across the table to put his hand on top of James'. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” James responds, more to the table than to Thomas.

Thomas rubs his thumb over James' knuckles. “You know I never—”

“I know,” James says before Thomas can finish. “I know. I just got so caught up and I thought and... it was a... a misstep. A mistake. I won't—it won't happen again.”

Alex then reappears with three pieces of pie, carefully setting them down in front of each of them before taking a seat. “It's getting late,” Alex says, startlingly smoothly. “And also there's a definite snow-storm happening out there.” He gestures out the window, and Thomas sees that he's right, there's already a foot of snow on the ground.

James opens his mouth to say something, starting to stand up, but before he can, Thomas cuts, “Just stay the night. I have a guest room.”

James throws a look at Alex, who smiles at him. “I can sleep in Thomas' room,” Alex says brightly. Then his confidence leaves him, but he bolsters enough to add, “Or on the couch.” He smiles shyly at Thomas who rolls his eyes.

“No one is sleeping on the couch,” he assures him, and Alex perks up. Thomas catches James smiling warmly at that, which is heartening.

They finish their pie in silence, and then James insists on clearing up those dishes while Thomas gets him some pajamas and Alex carefully moves his stuff to the living room. Thomas steps out of the bedroom to grab Alex's arm and pull him in.

“I'm sorry it's a mess,” Thomas apologizes, but Alex has already put his stuff down and thrown himself onto the bed, wiggling under the covers. Thomas smirks and then steps back out into the living area with the pajamas for James.

James takes them, and then they both hesitate where they are before James throws his arms around Thomas' neck, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you,” James whispers in his ear. “I really am sorry.”

“It's forgiven and forgotten,” Thomas tells him, pulling back with a smile. “Now go get some sleep. I'll make...”

“Quiche?” James asks, then flushes and looks away.

“Yes, quiche sounds excellent for breakfast. And I can use up some of the turkey. Good night, Jemmy.”

“G'night,” James responds before retreating to the guest room.

Thomas sighs and steps into his bedroom, closing the door behind him before changing into his pajamas, blushing a little when he sees Alex watching him, though the other man is clearly mostly asleep.

He's barely in the bed before Alex manhandles him into position, lying half on top of him with his nose pressed into Thomas' collarbone. Thomas smiles and wraps his arms around him. Alex sighs and is asleep barely a minute later. Thomas is up a little longer, thinking about how things spiraled so totally out of control. His phone dings and he glances over at it to see a text from Angelica. _Is James okay?_

Thomas frowns. _He's asleep in my guest room. I think he'll be fine, but we're keeping an eye on him._

_Oh “we” are, huh? ;)_

Thomas smiles. _Yeah. Alex... helped more than me, I think._

_Huh,_ Angelica responds. _Well, he better be in one piece for me when I come back for Christmas, okay?_

_You know, if you just asked him out..._ Thomas texts her.

_At Christmas. Sh. Goodnight._

Thomas finally lets himself relax. Things are going to turn out alright. He closes his eyes, and falls asleep almost instantly.


End file.
